Tangled Words Were Never Mine
by Town of ice
Summary: If Santana and Blaine agree on anything, it's that it's not going to be okay and that everybody should stop saying that. Klaine, Brittana. Santana/Karofsky/Blaine/Kurt friendship. Angst.
1. Twist My Bones

Santana Lopez hated herself more than she hated everyone else.

There was that stupid Glee club. The stupid football team and the stupid Cheerios. Stupid Coach Sylvester and stupid Principal Figgins and absolutely ridiculously stupid Mr Schuester. The stupid Asians and the stupidly named Mercedes Jones and the stupid, stupid, stupid uptight, fake, annoying Quinn Fabray with the stupid puffy-nipples, repetitive-hairstyles-obsessed Hudson kid. The stupid Jew that couldn't refrain from dressing like a grandmother's-gifts-to-baby on Christmas and the other stupid Jewish chubby-chaser. And the endless list of all the stupidity that is McKinley High, namely the New Directions (a name that sounds suspiciously like Nude Erections, but that just further suited the whole gay fiasco that it melted into).

She just hated them all so much, but the one she hated most was the stupid, bitchy, phony, slutty closet lesbian that was Santana Lopez. The stupid, bitchy, phony, slutty closet lesbian that she saw in the mirror every day, save for the days where she could avoid it. And those were the happiest days.

And she couldn't forget the completely moronic, academically-challenged, dumb, beautiful, generous, kind idiot that was Brittany S. Pierce.

* * *

><p>Artie Abrams was a CRIPPLE. He was the easiest target to slushie because the predators barely had to lift their meaty arms. He would be so easy to push down a flight of stairs to certain death. And being that handicapped must have some effect on your sexual abilities too.<p>

Artie Abrams had some of the worst luck ever experienced by a weak teenager in a high school nearly as dangerous and humiliating as a Japanese game show.

But to Santana Lopez, Artie Abrams had it all. Artie Abrams was the luckiest human to walk the earth.

And the bastard couldn't even walk.

* * *

><p>She didn't ask for this. She didn't want to be any of this. Some overused little lesbian with an unrequited love. She didn't want to be like that at all. She just wanted to be straight and pretty and make it all okay for once.<p>

It was too hard. Nobody would ever love her again. Nobody would ever touch her or approach her or speak to her.

She just couldn't get the shrieking mantra to stop playing through her head. It was going to tear her to shreds. It was running her out and breaking her down -

"Santana!"

A refreshing pause, a sweet distraction from all the regretful torture. Was her brain connected to her mouth? It took a few seconds for her to form words. "Here."

Pause. A small touch of laughter. "We're not taking attendance - Santana, are you alright?"

Mr Schuester came into focus in front of her face. His head was tilted slightly, eyebrows furrowed.

"Fine - I - I mean, I'm fine." She couldn't help the stammering, it was the best she could do. The chorus of words was creeping into her head again. Nobody would even notice. It was an excuse to poke at her. And she deserved it. She was a bitch to everyone else anyway.

Ugh, she was starting to feel lightheaded.

"You're not supposed to skip breakfast anymore - it's the most important meal of the day. It says so on the paper placemats at Denny's -"

"Brittany, I - I don't think now's the time." Mr Schuester's voice cut off the soft, slightly blank voice that Santana loved most. But she had to be grateful. She wasn't allowed to feel that way. She had to be right, she had to stop the feelings, if she could do that she could stop the words that snuck into her head.

"Thank you." Was that out loud? Her head voice muddled into her real voice. She felt like Brittany on a good day. It sounded blank and distant, odd to herself.

"Mr Schue, I think -"

The dizziness in her brain was making her stomach twist. All the annoying voices kept fitting into her thoughts. Nobody will like you anymore. You're an outcast and you deserve to be.

"Hey, whoa." She felt a slightly cold hand on her arm. Black lines were shivering in front of her eyes. "Rachel, just stop talking for a second!"

Mr Schuester's hand grasped Santana's arm firmly. She felt like the world was tilted. She was leaning heavily. Her head felt heavy on one side. Her vision blurred.

"I feel sick." She managed thickly, her eyes wide. Her ears were ringing. The voices in the room sounded distant and hollow, as if she were wearing headphones. Her head felt heavy, she let herself fall to one side absently.

"Santana, it's okay. Just breathe." Hadn't she been breathing? She tried to take a breath. Her chest expanded, and the ringing in her ears stuttered for a second. Mr Schuester had two arms on her heavy side, keeping her from the floor. Why?

"It's - I'm okay. I just -"

"Kurt, grab her arm." Mr Schue's voice said loudly. Her head dropped onto something soft. "Let's get her to the nurse."

One softer arm linked through her other arm. "Pretty damn pale, Santana." said a soft voice quietly. Or it might have been her imagination.

Her head flopped into Mr Schue's shoulder as they dragged her jelly legs down the hallway. The mantra blew like bullhorns in her head, words sharper than ever. Maybe she'd pass out and never wake up. At least then she could escape.


	2. It's What I Deserve

**A/N**: Chapter one sucked. This is better. Not supremely, but better. Longer. It usually gets better the further in because I get more comfortable in my writing. Anyways. If you hate Santana, stick around for Blaine. Not much else to say. _Review? If you feel like it!_

* * *

><p>In all those dumb movies, the people always hear voices before they see people when they become conscious.<p>

Santana felt her eyelids subconsciously pull open, her vision blurry. Her ears weren't ringing anymore but sounds felt muffled.

"Hey!" She heard a close voice, maybe matching one of the blurs in front of her, "Hey, she's conscious."

Definitely a guy. One of the blurs that was partially reddish.

"Just because her eyes are open doesn't mean she's conscious." said another, higher voice, "Could be reflexes."

"Honey, she's not comatose. She fainted." Unrecognizable voice.

Her vision slowly came to as the shapes moved.

Damn it. School nurse in a purple sweater under a white jacket.

"'m fine!" She tried to exclaim out of reflex. It came out slightly slurred.

There was a pause and she felt a cold hand on her arm. She immediately jerked in the opposite direction.

"Hey, whoa, sorry." Anyone could identify that annoyingly unique male falsetto. Or partially male. She rolled her eyes instinctively. Kurt Hummel tilted his head, his mouth in a line. He looked up at the other person opposite, on the other side of her bed. Or... cot, it felt painfully like.

Wonderful. Dave Karofsky in a red letterman jacket. He was looking back at Kurt with wide eyes. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Kurt narrowed his eyes and gestured to Santana, "Well, she's your girlfriend, say something!"

Santana didn't miss the emphasis on the word "girlfriend".

Karofsky swallowed visibly, looking down at her. She rolled her eyes and tried to sit up. "Are you okay?" He said quietly, under his breath. He put a hand on her shoulder as she sat up. Her head spun slightly.

She looked him over. He looked defeated, hunched slightly, and his eyes were sad. She raised a hand and rubbed it over his on her shoulder. "I'm okay - good." She turned away from Kurt, pulling her legs off the cot and sitting with her back to him, "How you doing?" She added quietly, keeping her hand on his on her own shoulder.

"I'm okay."

She reached up and ruffled his hair slightly, successfully faking a smile his way. He glanced up at her and smiled back sheepishly.

Kurt's mouth was slightly open. His eyes were narrowed and had eyebrow raised.

* * *

><p>It was so easy to bounce back. Santana could pop a few aspirin at her locker and numb out the buzz in her head and the knife in her gut, and make it through most of the day. She'd try to pretend to look like she and Karofsky had any kind of affection at lunch or in the halls and he would do the same. She knew he felt the same way in his own head. Mr Schuester looked at her suspiciously but she knew he'd get over it and move on. It was in his nature.<p>

What she couldn't very well block out was Hummel. Every once and a while, when she clenched her fists under her seat in frustration when she realized - well, when some thoughts hit her, or she bit her lip so hard she tasted blood on the inside, or when she faltered her quiet singing when she started to think again, Kurt always seemed to just be there. He'd be giving her a concerned look or grab her arm when it seemed like she'd topple. It was annoying. As if Santana Lopez had anything wrong with her.

"I know you all hate when I start on the older bands but..."

Mr Schuester's voice faded into a low murmur in Santana's ears. She swallowed stiffly and stared at the piano straight ahead. Straight face. Game face. Poker face.

She was Santana Lopez. This wasn't supposed to happen. She was smoking hot and popular and smart. She had any and every guy.

She knew it wasn't true. She made it that way. She felt sick and hollow every day. She hated her every move. She was just so scared. So scared of how awful everything was. Scared of how much more awful everything could and would get. Scared of dealing with it but scared of not dealing with it and scared of being so scared and scared of feeling so helpless and scared of all the pain.

Her head spun. No, not again. Not twice in one week. It drawed too much attention. She pulled on her sleeve absentmindedly. Mr Schue definitely glanced her way. No. No, she was imagining things. As usual.

You're disgusting. Lesbians are just gross. Nobody would like you anyway. So you'll be living your life alone either way. Your girl friends will abandon you because they'll know you'll just check them out. Your guy friends will abandon you because you'll never sleep with them anyways.

She felt a wrenching feeling rip through her chest, and she doubled over, gasping. Every word in her head, every repeating mantra, every painful chant struck her hard in the lungs.

Oh God. Oh God. Usually this only happened at night.

"Santana." Mr Schuester dropped his whiteboard marker and rushed over, stumbling in his haste. Santana heard Kurt's chair drag behind her.

Her head was cluttered and she felt dazed. There was a rushing in her ears. She gasped for air, panicking instinctively. She leaned over her knees, arms wrapped around her torso.

"Santana." Mr Schue was right beside her, kneeling beside her chair, one hand on her back, "Santana. Are you listening to me?"

Her head spun. She swallowed and felt her breathing escalate to hyperventilating. She squeezed her eyes shut.

"Hey - Rachel, sit down! All of you!" Mr Schue shouted behind her. Then the sounds of chairs. "Santana, I need you to - are you okay?"

Her eyes burned. A lone tear squeezed out of her shut eyelids, sliding down her eyelashes and falling onto her legs. The words in her head were too loud. She shook her head, breathing heavily and feeling a wrenching sob hitching in her chest.

Mr Schue took her arm under her elbow and lifted her up. She didn't dare open her eyes. She knew they were staring. He led her out the door and into the hall.

She could barely breathe. Every heaving breath refused to give relief to the aching in her lungs and the tighter she squeezed around her own waist, the less it gave relief to the aching emptiness there. Her head was spinning, her throat was tight. She could double over and have a fit but there was no way in hell Santana Lopez would cry. She didn't need to. She didn't deserve to. She was freaking out over literally nothing and it was just... almost punishable.

Her legs stumbled along with Mr Schue. His hand was sitting firmly under her elbow. "I need you to open your eyes, Santana."

Her breath was shaking. If she opened her eyes she would fall. If she opened her eyes she gave tears full liberty to escape when they wanted. But next thing, Mr Schue would panic and drag her back to the nurse.

"No, no, I'm fine." She said, wincing when her voice came out a high whimper, "I don't - stop, stop."

She opened her eyes, finding that they were in the long hallway. She pulled away from Mr Schuester's hand and fell back against the wall. He leapt forward and made a move like he was going to grab her.

"I'm okay." She muttered, curling in on herself as she slid down the wall. She sat with her knees up to her chest. "Just give me a minute."

"What's going on, Santana?" Mr Schue stayed where he was, looking down at her, eyes full of ridiculous concern. She didn't need his concern. It made her feel sick.

"I said I'm fine."

"That wasn't fine, Santana." He said sternly, "What's going on? Are you sick?"

As if she wanted to spill her rainbow feelings to Mr William Schuester. She squeezed her eyes shut again. Her breaths were hitching again, her lungs constricting painfully with each one. She just had to stop thinking.

Yes, I'm sick. Sick in the head. Sick for feeling this way, sick for wanting what I do.

She doubled over, head down.

"Hey, whoa, calm down." said Mr Schue cautiously, his lack of knowledge blaring through his good-teacher facade. "I'm going to go get the nurse."

"No!" She couldn't help it, "Please, don't, I don't need the nurse, I just - just... need a few minutes, okay? It's just, it happens sometimes, when I think too much, which - I just need a break, okay? I need to -" She could barely understand what she was saying. She was hyperventilating, her air coming in shaking, panicking breaths.

"Just, hang on, Santana, I'm going to get someone to stay with you while I -"

"Please, please, Mr Schue - I just, I can't, please don't - oh God, I think I'm going to puke - I shouldn't have this - they'll all turn their damn... backs on me, or -" She couldn't stop the rush of words coming from her mouth, she didn't think they were even making sense.

"What's going on?" said a loud, different voice. It sounded echoey, coming from slightly down the hall. She heard quick, steady footsteps. Looking up, she saw Karofsky in his stupid red jacket, though it looked like he was carrying his ugly pink Bully Whips one. She inhaled sharply as a stupid tear trailed down her cheek. She could slap herself for that, god.

"David, stop." Mr Schue walked up to him so fast he almost ran. He shoved a hand hard on Karofsky's chest and gestured blatantly at her.

"Come on, don't." He was trying to speak quietly, quickly, and his voice was angry and slightly desperate, "Even you've got to be above this."

Karofsky tilted his head at him, mouth open, incredulous. He looked confused for a second.

God, he had to be going through the same thing, but he wasn't breaking down like this. She was just pathetic. She felt a horrible sob rising in her throat. If she let that out, that was it. She hated herself forever. She was choking on it.

He rolled his eyes and gave him a look of disappointed disbelief and walked around him, away from him. Slowly, he walked towards Santana, arms slightly stiff.

"David, I'm not messing around." Mr Schue put his hand on Karofsky's shoulder, "You might pick on other kids, but come on. Don't kick her while she's down -"

Karofsky jerked his shoulder away and knelt down before Santana. He looked at her, his eyes concerned but most of all full of knowing. "C'mere."

She pushed herself off the wall, too tired and shaky to be a bitch. He took her hand and helped her up.

Mr Schue stood to the side, leaning a little toward the direction of the offices but looking cautious. His arm was still out. He opened his mouth to say something but Santana never heard.

It just bubbled up inside of her, pushing past her barriers and a sob breaking through her facade. Karofsky pulled her in and she clung to his jacket.

"I know." He said quietly, wrapping his arms around her and holding her against him as she sobbed, all terrors swirling in her head.

Dave knew. Of all the stupid people she hated and all the stupid people he hated, he knew. He knew what it was like, at least a little bit.

"I know." He repeated quietly. She clung to the fabric of his jacket and buried her face in his chest. At least neither had to explain anything.

* * *

><p>"I don't need to talk to you." snapped Santana. She wanted to be mean but she was tired and her words were soft.<p>

"I'm trying to help you, Santana." said the woman softly, her voice annoyingly comforting, "I won't judge or... anything like that. I only want to help."

"You can't help me." She said, words sounding odd as they burst past her frown, "You can't."

Ms Pillsbury leaned over her desk, crossing her hands together, "I can try."

Santana aimed a glare her way, "Can't you just give me a damn pamphlet and let me go?"

"I can't give you a pamphlet if I don't know what you need help with."

"I told you, I don't need help."

Ms Pillsbury leaned back again, sighing quietly. Santana was utterly frustrated to find that the woman was not frustrated. "Let's just talk, then. Is that okay?"

A shiver climbed up Santana's spine. Talking would lead to spilling, because she had nothing that wasn't a horrible, painful secret. But she wasn't going to get out of this and so she nodded silently, staring at the carpet, fighting the terrors at the back of her mind.

"How's Glee Club?" Ms Pillsbury asked kindly, crossing her arms in a soft kind of way.

Well, Brittany's in it, keeping tight with The Cripple. So, painful. The Asians are pitifully in love. So, nauseating. Kurt keeps watching me like I'm a bomb that could blow at any second. So, scary.

"Weird." She replied quietly, keeping her eyes on the ground, "I mean - fine. Just, yeah. Fine."

Ms Pillsbury placed her arms on the desk quietly, leaning forward. She nodded in a thoughtful kind of way. "You're dating Dave Karofsky, right?"

Her back stiffened out of reflex. Something in her stomach tightened. Nobody would know a secret like that, like what she was really doing with Dave Karofsky, no way in hell. She nodded, jaw tight. She was 'dating' him.

"And how's that -"

"Fine. Good. Great. Why are we talking about my dating life?" She snapped, finally looking up. It made her too tense to talk about that. For all she knew, she was a thread away from puking up a secret. All it would take was one word.

"I would be lying if I said I was just curious." Ms Pillsbury said, not unkindly, voice soft, "It's just that you and I both know he's never exactly had a good reputation. At least with the Glee Club."

"No." replied Santana coldly, "No, stop. Everybody thinks he's just a bully - that he's just mean for no reason and it isn't true. It's not true and he's just - he's the same as -"

"Santana, I wasn't - just, calm down, okay?"

Ah. She'd spun off into a panicky ramble.

"Santana, we really do need to talk about something." Ms Pillsbury's voice was agonizingly soft and innocent, no anger or hatred. Santana suppressed a shudder. "You - look, Santana, it looks like... you just... had a full blown panic attack. Right in the middle of Glee Club. Mr Schuester said it was just... sudden. We need to talk about it."

No, no, no, no, no. Talking about it made everything clench and it made Santana sweat. It made her dizzy and panicky and it made her freak out and feel sick and dread everything. She had to block it all out. She squeezed her eyes shut, head facing the floor.

There was a long silent pause. The lady's extensive psychology pamphlet reading kicking in.

"It's okay." she said softly, "I don't want to scare you."

Santana's arms felt weak. She clasped them tightly together on her lap. She wasn't scared. She wasn't. She couldn't be. Still, her breaths already came faster and more shakily. Her chest rose and fell with a small tremor each time. Ms Pillsbury was too good at this. She almost sounded like she understood.

But she didn't.

"You need to talk to someone, Santana. I'm only here to talk -"

"You can't." She managed, swallowing dryly, "You can't do anything."

She nearly tripped over herself in her haste to get up and out of that room.


	3. Those Things They Say Blew My Ears Away

She lost her mind somewhere down the hall. Her insides were frozen, jagged icy pieces of what used to work properly. But she couldn't remember those days.

She was barely containing her hyperventilating. Her chest was constricting painfully but she needed to get away. She was sickened with herself. She couldn't do it. The entire hockey team had been calling out taunts and jeers, like "faggot" and "buckboy" to Kurt in the cafeteria and she hadn't even tried to stop them. She couldn't. The way he'd looked at her, in her stupid beret and jacket, it just ripped through her. This could be her. This would be her. She felt lightheaded. She was afraid she would be sick. It felt like a knife in her gut and she couldn't do it. She had to just get away before she started screaming nonsense or throwing up or stabbing herself in the arm with a fork to make sure she didn't bleed rainbow. She didn't need this. She could run away from them but she couldn't leave the terror and fear behind and she couldn't run away from the fact. That she WAS that. She was a goddamn _homo_and she would do anything to get away from it. Maybe it would all stop then.

She slammed into the girl's bathroom door, bursting through and stumbling toward a stall. She didn't look in the mirror.

She wasn't going to be sick. She was just lucky as hell to be alone. Why couldn't she be this lucky in any other aspect?

She shoved the door open, tripping slightly. Before she could regain her balance, she froze. Her face went cold. All the blood in her body seemed to drop and... leak out or something.

"It's okay, it's okay."

She spun around, "This is the girl's bathroom, Dave."

"I know - just, come on." Karofsky held out his hand. They stood there for a second until she took it slowly. He pulled her in quickly and she kept her arms at her sides when he wrapped his around her.

"Why do you keep hugging me." She muttered, rolling her eyes and leaning her head against his chest.

"Because you need it."

"Since when does Dave Karofsky hug people." She muttered, her voice flat and low. She sighed quietly.

He let her go and it took her a minute to realize. She leaned against him for a second and then jumped back, sniffing. He smiled at her lightly. She looked down. "You shouldn't be in here."

"Neither should you."

"I'm a girl. Don't. Don't start on that shit, I am a girl, and I'm going to get enough of it and I already do in my own head -"

"Stop, okay? Don't do that. Stop doing this to yourself. Just come to me, okay? Don't deal with it yourself. It really freaks me out to think what you could be doing all alone and freaking out." His voice was shaky and it scared her, "Don't act like I don't know what it's like. This is exactly how I feel all the time."

She looked at him, eyes burning, and ducked around him, pushing the door open.

"I can't do this with you." She said, her voice scared and trembling.

* * *

><p>"We're just - I mean - I'm really worried about you."<p>

Mr Schuester asking her to hang back after Glee Club because he had to talk to her had already set off the alarms in her head. She felt ill at the prospect. Worried? Why should he be worried? There was nothing for him to worry about. Not for him.

"When I brought you to Ms Pillsbury, I thought you would talk to her instead. It just - Santana, we're not trying to... I know you need to talk."

Mr Schuester was just as clueless as ever. She didn't need to talk, she didn't want to talk, she needed out, she needed a magic potion that made her right and not in love with the wrong gender and not so terrified.

"The whole Glee Club loves you, you know that? And we all will no matter what." He continued on, eyes wide and head ducked slightly, "I'm worried about you. And your - uh - wellbeing."

The old Santana would have gagged. This Santana wanted to cry.

"You shouldn't be. You can't - you can't help me." She said quietly, words almost running together and her voice wobbling terrifyingly, "I'm sorry. I'm fine."

She got up and left. She couldn't help but run away anyway.

* * *

><p>She didn't even remember what she needed from her locker. Was it lunch, or... the end of the day? It must be, because it sounded like people were leaving. She gripped her locker door so tightly that her fingers were going numb.<p>

"Whoa." said a slightly high voice from behind the open door. A set of cold fingers pried hers off. She clenched her fist instinctively and dropped her hand. "It's not going anywhere. No need to hold on so tight."

She slammed the locker shut, staring ahead. The noise made her skin prickle briefly.

"What's going on?" said Kurt, leaning against the locker next to hers, "I mean it seriously, Santana. What's going on?"

His concern scared her, but so did everything. Her insides curled, her head felt airy. The words just came out without consent of her rational mind. Or what was left of it.

She swallowed her weakness and turned onto him. "You know what, Gay Dorothy? We were never friends before, I've never been nice to you and I'm not about to start. So for once, get your ruby slippers out of my face because as much as you might think so, I'm _not_jealous just because you found a way home."

Kurt looked at the ground, eyes calculating. He tilted his head to the side and then slowly raised his face to look at her. His eyebrows furrowed with some sort of epiphany. "Oh my God, you're gay -"

"No." She insisted, the word barely sounding like a syllable with the speed it had, "No. No, no. That's not what I meant."

She walked past him, knocking his shoulder with hers and tried to swallow the panic she felt forming.

But it was exactly what she meant.


	4. Screw My Head On Right

Santana had eyes for nothing but the exit of the hell named school the next day after waiting until everyone was gone, until she heard voices coming through the door to the greenroom behind the auditorium, the door cracked slightly.

She wanted to ignore it. She wanted to push past the exit and not stop walking until she was in her bedroom, but she recognized the voices. She definitely recognized them. And that was never good.

At last, bitchy-blackmailer Santana got the best and she pushed the door open and moved toward the stage door at the back of the greenroom. She leaned against the wall by the door, biting her lip nervously as she strained her ears.

"Why are you doing this?" It sounded like Kurt's friend from Dalton, Blaine. She'd met him a ton of times before, more than enough times to know his smooth voice. She didn't have to like him to know the kid had possibly the sexiest voice on the planet. But he sounded angry.

"I'm not -" Another male voice cleared his throat, his first attempt sounding strangely weak, "I don't know what you mean."

A shiver crept up her spine and her face was freed of all blood. Karofsky.

"Of course you don't, you somehow never seem to -"

"Blaine, just - hang on." she heard Kurt's voice say calmly, somehow questioning, "She *likes* you, David. It's not fair of you to do that. You're not - you can't."

"You're *gay*." said Blaine bluntly. Santana bit her lip harder. She didn't know Blaine that well but he just seemed... He didn't understand. He just didn't understand how much it just ached and made it hard to even breathe and made all the thoughts spin around so fast you thought you thought you might fall when you thought about it. And how all your blood ran cold when you thought people knew. She couldn't imagine what it must be like for Dave, knowing that Blaine and Kurt knew, and she knew, which made it terrifyingly, and maybe irrationally more likely that someone could tell.

She would never tell. She cared too much. She understood too much.

"Stop. Don't. No, it's not - it's not like that." Shit. Dave was panicking.

No, no, just because she panicked easily didn't mean Dave did. In fact, he probably didn't. It was her imagination. Not everybody was as pathetic as her.

"How is it in any way not like that?" Blaine snapped, clearly aggravated. Jesus, how was this tiny gay kid so damn confident? How could he be? How did he not fit right into it? How did he not understand?

"You don't understand, she's not - she's -"

Santana covered her mouth with her hands, trying to swallow the feeling rising in her chest. Her first thoughts were that he was going to tell and that was going to be it for her. She was afraid of them knowing and she was afraid of herself, afraid that the first thing she would instinctively do would be to lose it. And she knew them well enough to know that Blaine would try to calm her down with slow words and it wouldn't work and then Kurt would try not to cry and try to take her to that stupid OCD-infected ginger woman again and only Dave would understand and that just terrified her. She should have just gone home. But they were talking about *her*.

"I know you won't believe me." He said quietly after a long silent moment, "But - I'm not trying to hurt anybody. I'm not."

"David, what are you trying to prove? Nobody suspects anything. Nobody *thinks* you're, you know, that you're gay." said Kurt, his voice sounding oddly disappointed. She imagined him shaking his head, mouth slightly open in that Kurt-ish way, "You don't know Santana. I don't think she's ever, ever actually dated anyone and not just solely slept with them. And I *know* she's not having sex with you. You can't do that to her."

She heard an angry sounding breathing, "Don't. Tell. Me. Don't tell me I don't know Santana. I know her better than any of you. Look, Hummel, I've - I'm trying here, okay? I can't - it's just - not my place! I actually, you know, I actually need her!"

Santana bit her lip again under her hands. It sounded bizarre coming from Karofsky. Anything involving... feelings... sounded weird coming from him. She wondered blankly whether it was the same way with her.

She decided that it probably was. It was weird enough for her to rip any feeling-related words out of her throat.

"Why are you so scared?" exclaimed Blaine frustratedly, "It's not that difficult! What do you think, all your friends are just going to turn off of Kurt and onto you?"

"It's not going to be any different. You've already shut everyone out so much that whether they care or not it's not even going to matter." said Kurt, his words rushed and frustrated too.

Santana curled her fingers into fists at her face. She wanted to run out and shove Blaine into a wall and tell him to back the hell off, because he was being an asshole but she mostly wanted to cry. She was too scared for Dave to move.

"You need to break it off with her." said Kurt, almost softly, after a moment's silence. "You're leading her on and she obviously cares for you and you're hurting her. It's that simple."

She shut her eyes, wanting to block out his words. But with nothing else to listen to, her own words would sneak in and she didn't know what would happen then. Jesus, when did she become like this? Had this Santana always been lurking beneath her bitchy outer skin? Was this the Santana that had always known and always been this sick?

"I can't."

It sounded too familiar. Dave's scared, quiet voice was just desperate for them to understand. She imagined his eyes and just wanted to go and save him like he'd done for her before. She thought of Brittany and how Brittany loved Artie, more than she loved her. She thought of Mr Schuester and the wretched and *real* concern in his voice. She thought of the scary counsellor lady Ms Pillsbury and how she just wanted to know. But all she could really think about was how she cared about Dave more than any of that, just for that moment. And how she owed him, but not only because she owed him, also because the anguish building up inside her and the sick feeling in her stomach and the constricted feeling in her chest and the burning behind her eyes was exactly how she knew he felt. Worse.

She pushed her foot over and opened the door, stepping inside with a strange sort of rage that almost compared to Old Santana's daily feeling, and walked inside. She stood a few feet away from them.

"Hey." She said, desperately unwilling to let go of her sudden shot of determination.

Blaine's head tilted sideways, eyebrows raised. Kurt rubbed his eyes, looking like he felt like he was in for it now. He dropped his hands and looked at her. "Hi."

She nearly wilted at that and clambered back in the direction she came, but she exhaled loudly.

"I have a question for you, Hummel." She said, clenching a fist at her side reflexively, "What the hell is the matter with you?"

Kurt's eyebrows furrowed as he studied her. He wasn't thinking of an answer.

"You should know." She said, her voice just quiet enough to be scary and shaking slightly, "You of all damn people should know."

"Know what?"

"What it's like."

"I don't know what you mean."

She ignored him and turned to Blaine. She took a few slow steps forward, imagining it was last year and she was wearing her Cheerios uniform and Blaine was Puckerman after he slept with Brittany. It didn't work. She stood frighteningly close to the boy.

"Santana, watch it -" she heard Kurt begin, being perfectly cocky to defend his boy.

"I thought you left your old school because kids were mean to you." she said quietly.

"I did." replied Blaine, eyes scanning over her face, looking concerned.

"You got that way because you weren't hiding." Her insides felt fragile, but she tried hard to keep her voice from shaking, "Do you even know what it's like to be hiding? Do you know what that's like?"

She wasn't even angry anymore. She was just desperate for him to understand, to make him understand how much it hurt.

Blaine shook his head frantically, keeping his eyes on her, "You don't know what's going on. You don't understand -"

"God, *you* don't understand!" she exclaimed loudly, her eyes pooling in her frustration, "You just throw it all around like it's nothing and you don't even know what it's like!" She spun around to Kurt, "I thought *you* would! I thought you would get it but you don't."

She turned back to Blaine, "And you." She put her hand on his chest, leaning into his face, shaking like crazy on the inside but trying to keep calm on the outside, "You're an asshole, you know? It's not your business. It's not your place. It's not your business whether I love Dave or whatever's between us -"

"Your boyfriend's gay." said Blaine abruptly, looking shaken but saying it with all the confidence in the world. The worst part was that he didn't seem to mean it spitefully. He just wanted her to know. He wanted her to stop and he wanted her know.

She looked at him for a few seconds, his face blurry through the wetness in her eyes. She felt pathetic. How could she cry this much in one week?

She let go of his shirt which she found she was clutching in her hand on his chest and fell back. She stepped back and nodded with all the virgorousness she could manage. And then she thought of Brittany, and how much she loved her and wanted her, and she thought of Karofsky, and how much she loved him and wanted him to be okay, more than she wanted herself to be okay.

"I know." She choked out, "You too. Kurt too."

And as she stepped back further and bumped into Dave and looked straight at Kurt.

"Me too." she said, almost too quietly to hear.

She turned around and grabbed Dave's jacket by the front and lay her forehead on his chest silently. He wrapped one arm around her back and the other smoothed the back of her head.

"Santana, I didn't - we didn't know." Kurt said quietly, worried, "I'm so sorry, we didn't know."

"Oh God, I'm sorry. I understand, I know, I do, I swear. I didn't know." she heard Blaine rambling, "I'm sorry. I know how hard it is."

"Um," she heard Dave start quietly, "We're - we're gonna' go now."

Kurt nodded and Blaine didn't move.

It was the kind of silence that made Santana's stomach tighten. The kind of silence where nobody knew what to say because they had said everything.

"Come on." He whispered quietly to her, "Come on, let's go. I'll drive you home, okay?"

She nodded against him and pulled back. His eyes were wide. She took his hand and nodded at him again too.

* * *

><p>The feelings of panic and regret sunk in later that evening, when Santana struggled to fall asleep. She tried to think of Britt there beside her like she'd been so many times before, but that just made her think how long it had been and how Brittany didn't want that anymore. She tried anything and everything but everything came back to the fact that Kurt and Blaine *knew*.<p>

She thought back to when Karofsky drove her home later. She thought of how he opened his glove compartment and pulled out a pack of tissues.

"I'm not going to cry." She said, keeping her eyes on the dashboard.

"Come here, look at me."

She turned slowly to look at him, trying to keep her eyes blank. He leaned over the seat and held out a tissue.

"What are you -"

"You're bleeding." He said curtly, looking at her with nervous eyes.

"Oh." She breathed, "Shit. Oh."

She snatched the tissue from his hand and pulled down the mirror. Her lip had a small gash in it. She had bitten right into her lip. She needed a new nervous habit.

They sat in silence while she held the tissue on her mouth. Dave leant back in his seat with both hands on the wheel but didn't seem inclined to start the car.

"Are you okay?" She asked carefully, turning to face him.

He stared out the windshield, "Yeah."

It surprised her how quickly she worried. It was so unlike her. She bit her lip out of reflex and then winced. "No, you aren't."

"Neither are you."

"But you're not freaking out." she noted, easily keeping her eyes on him.

He ignored her, tightening his grip on the wheel. She reached up and laid her hand on his arm.

"I'm... seriously freaking out on the inside." He said quietly and slowly. She stroked his arm with her thumb absent-mindedly.

"If you can't freak out in front of me, who can you freak out in front of?" She said with a smile.

There was a long pause.

What was keeping Santana up that night was when he started to cry.


	5. Rest While Locks Melt

"Santana, please, be fair. We just want to talk to you!"

Santana slammed her locker as hard as she could and spun onto Kurt. "No, you don't, you want to talk at me! You want to tell me I'm -" She swallowed and lowered her voice, "'not alone' and it's bullshit, so leave me alone." She turned to Blaine, "Also, you may have forgotten, but this isn't your school, so it should be easier to forget about you than it is!"

Her heart thumped in her chest, the racing of her blood pushing pressure in her ears with each beat. She wasn't sure if it was anger or fear. Her stomach felt sick.

Blaine landed his fist in the locker. "Give it up, okay? I saw your fake angry-confident face collapse yesterday first-hand! So stop -"

"Blaine!" exclaimed Kurt, grabbing Blaine's arm and pulling him lightly.

"Good, Blaine. Have your annoying little boyfriend keep you from losing it." Santana growled. Once the rage had bubbled up it just wouldn't stop. "And you know what else? You're both driving me crazy. You don't know what it's like."

"Is she serious? I swear to God -"

"Santana, you know that's not true. So just calm down." said Kurt steadily, still holding onto Blaine's arm.

"Actually, I know that it is exactly true. You act like it was so hard for you 'in the closet' but everybody knew you were gay! As if it wasn't the most obvious thing in the world!" She started to ramble, taking a step, "And I don't know crap about you, Blaine, but you can't know what it's like, or you wouldn't have been such an ass to Karofsky yesterday about it."

"Yeah, because he's been so charming about it." responded Blaine sarcastically.

"You know why and I know why, and he knows why. And Kurt knows why. And it doesn't make it any better but he's trying, can't you see that? We're trying. God, I haven't jumped off a bridge yet, even though I'm just... I'm dying inside because of all this. I'm so scared to be this way, I'm so finished and I'm so tired and even though sometimes I think that it would be easier, I haven't - I don't know - like, killed myself off yet, okay?" Her words were rushed and running together and the panic was in full bloom again, "So I'm fine. And I don't need to talk to you. Or that stupid counsellor or Mr Schue or anyone. So please stop trying."

Blaine looked frozen in terror and Kurt just looked sad. They stood there for a moment until Kurt reached out like he was going to pat her or something. And then Kurt grabbed Blaine's hand and pulled them away.

It was a terrifying moment. She felt the way she did that day in Glee Club, but she was frozen. She didn't think. She didn't move. Her blood had solidified and she was a sculpture. Kurt could tell. He would tell someone. That look in Blaine's eyes, he would tell. He would tell anyone. She felt like she was going to be sick but didn't feel it coming up. Her exteriors were icy. Her face felt clammy in a strange way. She felt lightheaded and panicky.

No. Not again. It wasn't that important.

But she couldn't stop thinking about how she'd pissed Kurt and Blaine off. And they held the key. And they would tell now, because she was a bitch to them and she didn't deserve their keeping her secret.

"Santana?"

And she was terrified. She was terrified of everybody when they knew, and losing all her friends and being beaten down and up. But she was terrified of herself, and what would happen if everybody found out. She was terrified that she would lose it.

"Are you okay?"

She watched the span of lockers. She kept one palm up against the cold metal, frozen. Her eyes felt blank. Her brain felt fuzzy.

Somebody put their hand on her shoulder. She didn't move.

"You're bleeding." said a worried voice.

Nobody is going to love you the same. The constant mantra was sneaking back to her.

"Come on. Let's go to my office."

* * *

><p>She didn't remember getting there, but suddenly she was standing by the door in Mr Schuester's office. He had one hand on her arm.<p>

"Come on, Santana. You gotta' listen to me now, okay?" He sounded nervous and worried but somehow determined.

She didn't want to move. If she sat down, there was no getting up and she was afraid to speak.

Mr Schuester sighed, standing in front of her with one hand on her shoulder, "What happened to you?"

Her eyes felt wide. They were burning slightly. He didn't sound like he was asking her. He didn't sound like he was asking anyone.

She followed her feet's movement as he guided her toward his desk. She sat down on the chair in front. Mr Schue reached across her and picked up the black phone.

"Damn it - Emma? If you're still at the school, and just... not picking up the phone... can you - can you come down to my office? Please? Thanks."

Emma? Emma Pillsbury? The counsellor?

"Santana, come on." muttered Mr Schuester, standing at the opposite side of the desk, "What's the matter? What - what's going on?"

There were rushed footsteps, high heels, and the door was shoved open. "Will - oh." It was Ms Pillsbury, sounding out of breath. Santana bit her lip tightly and tried to hold down the panic she knew was just below the surface. "Santana."

"I found her by her locker. I heard her talking to Kurt and his friend from Dalton and then they ran off. The hall was empty. Everybody's been gone for nearly a half hour now." explained Mr Schuester nervously, "And now... she's not... responding. At all."

She couldn't. She didn't need to talk to them or anybody. How long had she stood there after Kurt and Blaine retreated? It had felt like all her thoughts had torn through in seconds.

"Santana." she heard Ms Pillsbury's quiet, kind voice, "Santana, it's going to be okay. Can you talk to us please?"

She couldn't. They had to understand. She couldn't talk to them or anybody. It hurt too bad.

"She's bleeding. A lot."

"I know. I found her that way and I'd try to clean her up but I really don't want to scare her." Mr Schuester told Ms Pillsbury, "Do you think someone hurt her?"

"Oh my God, Will. What if it was Karofsky?"

"No." He said curtly, almost defensively, "No. David is... no, you didn't see what I saw. David really, really cares about her."

There was a long moment's silence. Ms Pillsbury stayed by the door.

Santana didn't know how to make it okay. She didn't know how to be okay. She didn't want to speak. She wanted to sit for hours and wait until everybody was gone and then lay in the dark.

"Santana." Mr Schuester's voice roused her slightly, bringing the ringing in her ears down, "I understand. I know you're in a really bad place right now, but I want to talk to me, okay?"

She couldn't decide whether it was the words or the concern that sounded so genuine it brought a sudden hot, ill feeling to her stomach. But she focused and thought for a second that he actually cared about it, about her. And it hit her so suddenly that it scared her. And she started to cry. Not a reflex, scared, panicking cry like it usually had been. She was crying because she didn't think she could do it anymore.

"Okay. Okay. Yeah... It's going to be okay." Ms Pillsbury came over and knelt down beside her, putting a hand on her shoulder, "It's okay to be upset, Santana."

But she didn't know and she didn't understand. She wasn't upset. She was scared now. Because of how much she thought that she just wasn't strong enough to keep from letting this all end her. And how when she asked herself whether that would be a good price to pay, the answer wasn't automatically no. And so all she could do was shake her head and cry.

She didn't know what the "policy" was, but she hoped it wasn't to just let her be. She wanted somebody to tell her it wasn't worth it, even if she knew it wasn't true.

"Did somebody hurt you, Santana?" asked Mr Schuester with a tone of standard-protocol.

She didn't answer because she didn't know whether she counted in the consideration. Brittany hurt her. Kurt hurt her. Blaine hurt her. Even Dave hurt her by caring so much and making it real. But most of all, she hurt herself. And she couldn't stop doing it because she wanted to make sure she knew she deserved it.

"Do you want to talk yet, Santana?" asked Ms Pillsbury, taking her hand off of Santana's shoulder.

She shook her head.

"Santana?" Mr Schuester leaned across his desk. She turned to look at him, wiping her cheeks with her fingers, "I only want you to know, alright? I want you to know that I think you're having problems and I feel like you're in a very dark place right now. And I want to help you. I want you to come to me, any time. And you have my number, too. So whenever you feel the way I saw you in Glee Club and the way you were today, I want you to come to me. Or Ms Pillsbury. Either of us, just, an adult, okay? You can trust me and I know you know that. I - we - we just really don't want you to be sick, to feel alone. Because you're not."

Santana stared at him blankly as the words sunk in. And then she nodded furiously and got up. Ms Pillsbury looked like she wanted to stop her. But as Santana stepped out, nobody tried to stop her.

* * *

><p>"Who did this?" he demanded furiously, "I will kick their ass, I swear to God."<p>

Santana walked beside Dave, feeling empty. He grabbed her arm.

"Nobody. I don't know. I did it to myself." She exclaimed, grabbing the arm that grabbed her with her own, "Hurts like a bitch. I think I bit clear through my lip."

"I told you to come to me, Santana. I told you not to let yourself be alone."

She shoved him away from her, "I can take care of myself."

He'd been waiting in the hall by the exit of the school when she all but ran from Mr Schuester's office. She didn't even notice him. But it wasn't surprising to her. A lot was slipping by her these days.

"Hummel called me." He'd told her, grabbing her arm to stop her, "His boyfriend is really freaked out. What did you do to him?" And then he noticed her bleeding lip. "Shit, shit, what happened?"

Outside, Dave stopped walking. She dragged her feet to wait for him.

"You used to be such a cocky bitch." He told her, "And I used to be such an asshole."

"Who says you're not still an asshole?"

He ignored her. "Why are you like this?"

She turned back around and kept walking, "I could ask you the same thing."

* * *

><p>Dave drove her to the clinic, despite her protesting.<p>

"Believe me, I'm a football player." He told her, exasperated, "I've seen injuries. You're gonna' need stitches on that."

And he was right. And he gave her a smug look the entire time, especially when she glared back.


	6. Strange How We All Seem To Change

**A/N**: Thank you for the reviews, specifically those with criticism/advice and things. In regards to the Kurt thing, about how he realized she was gay but then was surprised when she told him, he was surprised… it comes up later, so I'm not _completely_ stupid, hahaha, just mostly. Oh well. Tell me what you think!

Sidenote: I already had most of this story written before I posted any of it, so about until chapter probably 9 or 10, it's already written. So I'll probably post another chapter tonight.

_Enjoy!_

* * *

><p><em>Saturday night. Rachel Berry's basement. Rachel Berry's second attempt at a raging party. Because there wasn't enough booze to put me in a coma at my place.<em>

When Santana felt herself slipping into a drunken sort of stupor, she repeated the same things in her head. When, where, what, why.

_Saturday night. Rachel's basement. Rachel's stupid party. Because I'm a masochist._

She sat in the corner with a red plastic cup half-filled with vodka. Nobody wondered where the vodka bottle had gone because there was nothing to mix with it and vodka was disgusting. She took a large gulp and winced. It was starting to be less and less disgusting the drunker she felt herself getting. Sam was on another couch looking confused. Mercedes giggled as she tried to kiss him on the face. Sam hadn't been drinking nearly enough to enjoy that and yet somehow he didn't seem to mind. Mike Chang was giving Tina an insanely elaborate lap dance to which she was laughing hysterically. The music was blasting loud. Stupid Rachel Berry and stupid Finn Hudson were singing some stupid pop song too loudly. Puck had a tie wrapped around his head and looked like he was trying to serenade Lauren. She held the end of the tie like a leash.

Brittany had nothing but a bra and shorts on and was dancing elaborately to whatever Finn and Rachel were singing. Artie was sitting stagnant in a wheelie-position watching her in comically large sunglasses.

Santana had been trying desperately to keep her eyes far away from Brittany all night. She drank more. Quinn was trying to grab Rachel's microphone stand with one hand while lifting a wine cooler to her lips with the other. It just wasn't interesting at all.

Everything was starting to get a little fuzzy around the edges. Good. She lifted the cup again.

Suddenly Kurt plopped down beside her. She'd been sitting on an old couch in the far deserted, darker corner of the basement purposely _to_avoid him.

And looking over at him, she saw the hickey on his neck.

"Oh, gross." She said loudly, rolling her eyes and taking another drink. It burned all the way down. It felt like there was a fire in her chest.

"I know you're probably pretty drunk which is why I'm going to try to talk to you again." He told her simply.

"You know what, Kurt? I do sincerely hope you didn't cockblock your little buddy in the middle of a make out session for this." She snapped, narrowing her eyes at him, "Because I have nothing to say to you."

She turned away from him and her eyes landed on Brittany spinning and throwing her hips to each side. She swallowed bitterly. She closed her eyes.

"I know." Kurt continued, "I want to say sorry."

She spun around and glared at him. She squeezed her now empty cup into a twisted piece of plastic, "Save it."

She slammed the cup down on the couch beside him before jumping up and storming toward Brittany.

* * *

><p><em><br>Saturday night... Rachel's basement bathroom... Brittany... Because we're both drunk and that makes it okay..._

She had Brittany up against the wall, one hand by her head and the other on her waist. She pressed her hips up against hers and pressed her lips against Brittany's neck.

"Santana, I don't - I don't know if I want to -"

Santana pulled up and kissed Brittany full on the mouth, probably more intensely than she wanted to. But everything felt fuzzy and exaggerated.

"But I love you." She whispered against Brittany's mouth, her words slurred. Something in her stomach twisted at that. That was definitely the wrong thing to say. But she didn't remember how to care.

She ran her tongue along Brittany's lips, feeling strange. She felt a fullness in her chest. It could go back to normal. She and Brittany and all things.

But then Brittany pushed against Santana slightly, pulling her hand off of her waist. She moved out from under her. "Exactly," she said, out of breath, "You love me and... and I love Artie right now. We can't. I'm sorry."

She listened to Brittany's footsteps leave the bathroom, biting down hard on her lip and wincing when she felt the tiny sutures holding it together. She knew. She already knew that Brittany didn't love her back. She just didn't know it was the same thing as full-blown rejection.

"Oh my god."

She spun around and fell back against the wall with a bang.

"You're a lesbian."

She swallowed and shook her head furiously. "N - no, what -"

"Oh my god."

"I'm not, I'm not, I'm not -"

"Everyone's going to freak." The words were slow and exaggerated.

She shoved Finn aside, knocking him into the doorway of the bathroom and tore through the party, though the dizziness and the alcohol was trying to pull her down onto the floor. She lurched up the stairs and burst out the front door.

"Santana! Wait!"

The world was spinning and her stomach was about to kick everything out. She leaned over the bushes -

"Santana?"

- and threw up. It burned. Tears sprung in her eyes. She dropped to her knees and gasped for air.

"Santana. God." Someone put their hand on her back and stood beside her, "God, I _knew_ you were drinking a lot. I _knew_it."

"It's over." She whispered, recognizing the voice as Blaine.

She pushed herself up and felt her stomach turn. She shoved at Blaine's chest and threw up into the bushes again. The ground kept spinning underneath her feet.

"I drank too much." She whimpered, falling back down onto her knees in the grass. Blaine rubbed her back absent-mindedly.

"I can tell." He said quietly.

"Oh God. They know." She was starting to lose it, starting to hyperventilate. "Finn saw. Finn *saw*, oh God, oh my God -"

"It's okay, Santana, just... take deep breaths, okay?" He said, almost frantic, "I need to get Kurt."

She squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. She felt his hand leave her back and the door creak open slowly.

It was silent save for the quiet sound of crickets and her frantic breathing. She clutched her hands together at her chest. At least her stomach felt better.

They knew. Once they knew, that was it. They all talked a good game about accepting but she knew. She knew she didn't even deserve their acceptance, knew well enough she wouldn't get it anyway.

Someone placed a hand gingerly on her back again.

"Is she okay?"

"I don't know. I don't think so."

Kurt had come out with Blaine finally. He ran his hand up and down her back.

"Finn saw." She said quietly, her heart thumping loudly in her ears.

"Finn saw what? What did Finn see?" asked Kurt, his voice calm and kind, as if speaking to a lost child. She figured that was a pretty accurate description of her.

She twisted her fingers together, "Me. I kissed Brittany."

"What -" Blaine began to exclaim.

"Why did you kiss Brittany?" interrupted Kurt, his voice still the same.

"I love her." She said, her voice coming out a pitiful whimper. Her words slowly sunk in and she looked at Kurt with wide eyes, "I'm sorry, I don't - I mean, I didn't - I'm sorry -"

"Shh, I know, it's okay, calm down." He looked at her with wide, concerned eyes, "Finn saw you kiss Brittany?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, wanting the block out the world. Brittany didn't love her and now everybody would know. This was everything that made her the way she was, the reason Mr Schuester watched her with scrutiny, the reason Ms Pillsbury thought there was a problem, the reason Dave was almost equally as screwed up. She nodded slowly.

"He's going to tell them all." She breathed, eyes shut against the faint lights from the house and Blaine's anguished face.

Kurt stood up quickly and made a move, "No, he's not. He's not going to do that to you. I'll make sure."

She reached up, eyes snapping open, and grabbed his wrist, "No - no, stop, please, he probably already did, he hates me, just -"

"He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't." said Kurt frantically, losing some of the calmness from before, "He's got me as a brother, Santana, he would never do that to someone."

She stood up, knees threatening to shake her over. "Finn hates me, I started all that stuff with Rachel early in the year and I'm just such a bitch to him and Rachel and everyone, this is perfect for him - oh my God, oh my God, I'm sorry, I can't -"

Blaine placed his hand on her shoulder, "Shh, Santana, just breathe. It's okay."

She jumped back, shoving his hand away, "No, it's not! I don't want to do this!"

Kurt grabbed her arm and held on tightly, leaning in, his eyes tight on hers, "Stop. Stop saying that, don't say that. You'll get through this, okay?"

"What do you know?" She nearly shouted, glaring back at him, "You don't know anything! She doesn't love me anymore, I don't know if she did but she knows and you know and Blaine knows and Dave knows and now Finn knows! And now everybody knows! I don't want any of this!" She tried to jerk her arm away but Kurt held tightly. "Let go of me!"

"No." He said flatly, "I'm not letting you go anywhere until you get some rational mindset. You're going to do something stupid."

"No, I'm not!" She exclaimed furiously, still trying to squirm away, "First, I'm going to punch your boyfriend in the face, because I want to hurt somebody. Then I'm going to light this fucking house on fire -"

"Calm down!" Kurt yelled back, "Stop acting like I don't know what you're going through! And stop being such a bitch to Blaine, he didn't even do anything! You have no idea what we've had to go through because of you!"

"What have you had to endure because of me, Kurt?" She said quietly, bitterly, "Please elaborate. Then maybe you could get your fairy fingers off -"

"Stop with the gay comments! They're not funny; they're rude. And guess what? I could say the same to you!" Kurt shouted back at her angrily.

"What the hell are you screaming about?"

Santana's stomach dropped when she saw Finn stepping off the ledge. Kurt let go of Santana and stepped back. She stared at the tall boy.

"I thought you were yelling at Blaine." Finn said, voice low, "Clearly that's not the case."

Kurt hesitated in reaching out, looking like he wanted to stop Finn as he stepped back through the doorway and pulled it shut. However, just as Santana started to deflate, she heard his voice again.

"By the way," he said, voice slightly drink-slurred, and he stepped out the door again, eyes on Santana, "I called your boyfriend. I figured he should know."


	7. We Were All So Undone

A/N: Shorter chapter so I'm uploading the next one soon. Sorry if it's bad haha. If you like Finn, you'll either hate this chapter or hate him. Poor Santana. And Blaine. Finally something's actually happening here. Thanks for reviewing! If you'd like you could take the time to review this one too ;).

Well, tell me what you think.

* * *

><p>They stood in an extremely tense silence while the urge to throw up faded. He told Dave. But Dave already knew -<p>

Blaine lunged at Finn, tried landing his fist at the side of Finn's face. Finn caught his fist and shoved Blaine back at full-force -

"Blaine!" exclaimed Kurt as Blaine toppled back over onto the grass. Before anyone could stop him, Blaine was up and grabbed Finn's shirt and shoved him into the house's outside wall by the door.

"Get off me!"

Time seemed to freeze as Finn pulled his fist back and landed it square in Blaine's mouth. Hard.

Blaine fell back, toppling over onto the grass, hand on his mouth. He looked furious, like he wanted nothing more than to continue the fight until Finn got hurt. Kurt shoved Finn against the wall with a lot of force for someone nearly a head shorter.

"You are the biggest asshole I've ever seen!" Blaine shouted, pointing a hand at Finn, "Do you even know what you're doing?"

"I punched your face!"

"Shut the hell up, Finn." snapped Kurt, one arm against Finn's throat and the other forcing on his chest, "That's my boyfriend you just hit."

"Yeah and I'll *hit* you too!" Finm shoved Kurt but Kurt forced him back faster.

"Stop!" Santana cried out, crouching down beside Blaine. "Are you okay?"

Blaine nodded, eyes still fuming. She pulled his hand softly off his mouth. His lip was split straight down the middle. She put her fingers over it gently. "Shit. Um, just - um, hold it. It won't - it won't swell so badly."

He looked up her and rolled his eyes, "I got -" He put his fingers under hers on his lip, "Yeah, ouch. I got it."

"Isn't - that - nice?" said Finn breathlessly, struggling against Kurt's grip, the booze in his system making him feeble and even less coordinated than usual, "A little group of fags protecting each other." Kurt let go of Finn, dropping his arms to his side. Blaine looked up, wide eyed.

"Looks like the truth comes out when you're drunk." said Kurt quietly, stepping back away from Finn.

"Fag. Fag. Dyke." Finn said slowly and simply, pointing at Kurt, Blaine and Santana in turn.

"What?" breathed Kurt, staring up at him, "What are you doing?"

"You seemed pretty straight when we had sex last year." said Finn, eyes like knives in Santana's direction, "When I think about it, it makes sense, considering you've never actually dated anybody and you've always just kind of been a slut." She pulled her legs in closer, one hand on Blaine's cheek and the other over his split lip, frozen, eyes locked on Finn's. Her fingers were slick with the blood from Blaine's mouth. Her heart thumped in her chest, her veins numb.

"Who knew," He continued, words slow. Kurt looked furious, his chest rising and falling. Blaine had one hand on hers on the side of his face and his grip was starting to feel painfully tight. Santana had her wide eyes on Finn's, mouth slightly open. He was going to say it. "Who knew you were just covering up the fact that you're actually a huge dy-"

Kurt cried out and leapt back as Finn was shoved back against the wall once again. Blaine dropped their hands down as he jumped up and grabbed Kurt's arm and pulled him back.

"Do you think you're funny?"

Finn raised his hands by his head, "What the hell, Karofsky?"

"I don't think you're as nice as everyone thinks you are." growled the figure identified as Dave Karofsky, "*That* is your brother and *you* just called him a fag. *That* is your brother's boyfriend. And you just called *him* a fag." He paused and swallowed visibly. Santana was frozen on her feet beside Blaine beside Kurt, one hand gripping tightly to Blaine's sleeve. Her heart raced loudly in her chest, her stomach turning, lightheaded. He gave her a look. "And that is Santana Lopez. And you just called her a fag, a dyke and a slut. No, you're definitely not as nice as everyone thinks you are."

Kurt grabbed Dave's jacket sleeve, "David -"

"And now all we have to figure out is whether you turn into a whole other douchebag that doesn't mean anything he says when you're drunk, or whether the way you really feel just comes out when you're drunk." Dave shoved Finn back and let go, stepping back, "And keep your mouth shut. I already know how much you care about other people's personal feelings, considering the first thing you did was call her boyfriend and tell him his girlfriend is a dyke, but keep your mouth shut. I'm not messing with you, Hudson."

He looked over the three smaller people all looking like frightened children, sort of huddled together. "And now I'm going to drive the kid you punched in the face to the hospital, because in case you haven't noticed, you either knocked out a tooth or broke his nose because he is covered in his own blood."

Finn stared at the ground, eyes wide, looking shocked and extremely frightened. And almost horrified. He looked up and locked eyes with Kurt, who looked back at him with wide, hurt eyes. Kurt's mouth was open and he looked horrified. He shook his head minutely, on the verge of tears.

* * *

><p>2AM Sunday morning. Outside the Lima clinic. Waiting for Blaine and Karofsky. Because Kurt and her were both still the tiniest bit too drunk to walk straight.<p>

Or think straight.

Or be straight - but that wasn't really the alcohol, but it was what was keeping it on both of their minds.

Kurt looked albino-level pale under the street lamps, but somehow his skin managed to look soft. He stared ahead, leaning on the lamp post, mouth slightly open, eyes looking overly thoughtful. His pupils would move every so often. He looked calculating.

Santana couldn't stop hearing Finn's words. Fag, dyke, slut. Bitch. Was Finn just a mean drunk? But Kurt was his *brother*. He always seemed like... he was watching for that, like he hated Karofsky and others just for those kinds of things that he himself had just said.

Although mostly he seemed like being popular was his biggest aim.

Finn always seemed like a generally good guy. He was easy and fun to mock, sure. But he never seemed to go out of his way to bully anybody if he could avoid it. Everyone always subconsciously blamed any of his major faults on hard times. What with Quinn and the baby actually being the delinquent Jew's in Sophomore year. And with all that Quinn and Rachel drama and his mom marrying Kurt's dad in Junior. He didn't purposely make anyone's life miserable.

But that before was bad. That was bad for Kurt because he had just gotten out of everybody else ruining everything for him. The Karofsky chaos was done and settled, the football team didn't slam him around anymore. People were done.

Except Finn. And Finn was supposed to be Kurt's brother, his friend.

She reached out with this thought and wrapped her arm around Kurt's shoulders. She didn't know whether her thoughts actually added up logically or not, everything was still quite fuzzy around the edges. But she'd still heard Finn loud and clear. And that was reason enough.


	8. It's Gotten Me Nowhere

A/N: What am I doing? Chapter 8. Well... I just wrote another chapter last night and... it involves a big... thing (and that is not supposed to be an innuendo) so you'll see that a bit later... Well. And you'll find out what happened to Karofsky later, heh heh heh…

Please review if you have time and tell me what you thought of this chapter/the story so far! :)

Not a hugely long chapter but next chapter later.

* * *

><p>"And now we're matching." said Blaine quietly, reaching up and touching the threads sewn into her lip lightly.<p>

She nodded and patted his chest softly.

"That was so awful." she heard Kurt's soft, high voice say.

She stared out the window of Dave's car, the streetlights growing farther and farther apart. Dave gripped the wheel tightly with each hand, knuckles white. Only when he turned his head to to flick on the turn signal (unnecessarily, the tree-lined streets were deserted at 2AM), she saw the smudge of black underneath and up the side of his eye.

Her eyes widened. She twisted in her seat. "What happened to your eye?"

Her heart thumped in her throat. She was fairly drunk and distracted but she knew Finn hadn't hit Dave.

But that meant...

"Nothing." he replied, knuckles white at the wheel, eyes on the road but seeing nothing.

As they passed a streetlight, the brief flash of light, she saw the long red streaks on the side of his face and rage bubbled up.

"What the *hell* happened to you?" She exclaimed, unable to stop it. Blaine and Kurt stopped whispering in the back and looked up from each other.

"I fell!" Dave exclaimed, still gripping the wheel tightly and keeping his gaze the same. She grabbed his arm roughly. "What the hell, Lopez? I'm driving!"

"Pull over then!" She shouted, her voice excruciatingly loud in the small vehicle, "Since when you call me Lopez?"

He turned the wheel and slammed on the braces so quickly she heard the wheels skid. Kurt hit the car door in the weight of the turn. Dave pulled the gearshift into Park and turned to face her. "Since when are you telling people you're a lesbian?"

She stared, flinching back like he hit her in the face. One eye was blackened and the other had a gash underneath and the side of his face was scraped entirely. Her jaw dropped in shock. The back of her eyes burned; why did this happen?

"She didn't tell." said Kurt quietly, "She didn't tell Finn. He found out on his own."

Dave locked eyes with Santana, his eyes growing from angry to frightened in a second. "How did he find out?"

She looked down at her knees leaned back. She didn't want to go through all this again. She just wanted to forget it ever happened. It ached in her chest like a knife stabbed deep. Brittany's eyes. The way she said it. It was never going back to the way it was. When Brittany had said she loved her, she had never meant it. She was in love with Artie.

Her breathing hitched in her chest. Her head was starting to spin and it wasn't the alcohol because that was fading fast.

She had to stop thinking about it -

"He saw her," said Kurt in the back, voice so quiet it was hard to hear, "In, you know, in a compromising position with -"

"Okay." She said loudly, staring straight ahead at the dark windshield, "That's enough."

"He called me." said Dave. She still felt his gaze on her. "He called me and he sounded really drunk, as in, completely pissed. He said, 'Your girlfriend is a dyke.' and I didn't really understand at first, but then I figured..."

"How could he do that?" she heard Kurt's voice say behind her.

She could see Blaine's face staring wide-eyed and frightened behind her. All she could think about Blaine was that he wasn't as cool and collected as he seemed. Kurt seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Kurt exclaimed suddenly, seeming to remember Blaine's outburst of violence, "He's twice your size! He could have really hurt you!"

Blaine was too soft, softer than he was before and quieter. He looked hunched in his seat. She swallowed thickly. She glanced down at her hands. Still splotchy with Blaine's dried blood. She resisted the urge to shudder. Something was up with that kid. She didn't understand why he tried to hit Finn in the first place. He knew Dave already knew about her.

After a long moment of quiet from Blaine, the car settled into a cold silence. Dave had his eyes on Santana, she had hers on Blaine.

"What now?" she asked hoarsely, watching his guilty, anguished face rise.

Nobody had an answer until Dave twisted over the seat to look at Kurt. "I think you should talk to your dad."

Santana's stomach dropped. She stared wide-eyed at Dave. Why the hell would they talk to Kurt's dad? About Finn? But how could they? How could they do that without telling?

As soon as a parent knew, it was official. It started coaxing the feeling she'd gotten that time in Glee club right out again -

"But that means -"

"I'm going to have to anyway. I just *know* Finn's going to come home completely drunk instead of staying -" Kurt said.

She wasn't listening. She twisted in her seat and grabbed Dave's arm with both hands frantically, "No - no! We can't! Please, it's not a big deal, please - your parents can't know about -"

"Way to go, Karofsky." said Blaine's quiet voice.

"If your parents find out, then so will other parents and then they'll all know and I'm not ready for th-"

"Santana! Think about it this way. If we don't talk to my dad or Finn's mom, Finn will tell everybody." Said Kurt seriously.

Whether it was because she was still the slightest bit alcohol-fogged or because she was already in hysterics, the logic didn't work for her. She looked frantically at each of the boys in turn and locked eyes with Dave. "What are you doing? He'd have to know about you too! Please, please, I don't -"

"My dad won't tell anyone. He wouldn't tell anyone if we didn't want him too but he could keep Finn from telling everybody!" Kurt interrupted loudly.

"We can talk to Finn oursel-"

"He just beat the hell out of Blaine and would have happily hit me too over it, you think that's a safe idea? I'm not going to watch -"

"Then we can - we can -"

"We can't do anything! There's nothing else we can - "

Blaine had had enough. He twisted in his seat to face Kurt and exploded. "Jesus Christ, Kurt, she's not ready to come out and she doesn't want to tell your dad, give it a goddamn rest! What the hell's the matter with you?"

The entire car fell into a stunned silence. Kurt watched Blaine with wide, frightened eyes, mouth slightly open and hand still facing upwards on Blaine's leg where their hands had been intertwined before Blaine ripped his away. Blaine stared at Kurt's hand with angry, tear-filled eyes. Even he looked stunned at himself. Santana's heart thumped loudly in her ears.

Kurt pulled his hand away slowly and leant back in his seat. He stared at Santana, eyes fuming so much she was actually worried, "Fine. It's not my *place* to make you do what you don't want to. But I'm telling my dad. I'll just leave you out of it."

"No." Her mouth spoke before her brain was aware. Her pulse was so loud in her ears she thought it might be some impending heart attack. If she just shut out of the entire thing, it could be okay. She wouldn't panic. She wouldn't puke like she felt she might. She wouldn't even have to listen and be so scared she felt like pulling her own eyes out. "No. Don't leave me out. But I need to be there. I can't - I don't want anyone else to know. I'm not ready for that. You have to understand -"

"I understand." replied Kurt, sitting upright in his seat, words fast, "Just - just know, my dad won't say anything."

She stared at her hands gripping Dave arm, "What about you?" she said quietly.

"I - I don't know what I'm doing. I can't. But I just - you know, I will." She flinched at the fear and hopelessness in his voice.

"He'll probably still be up. Game reruns and stuff." said Kurt softly. He reached over and placed his hand Santana's arm gingerly, "Blaine's right. If you don't want to, it's not right -"

"I want to. It's better this way anyway. Otherwise everybody will know and I'm kind of worried Finn will come after Dave looking for blood or something." She was getting good at wrenching up bits of Old Santana. Though her hands trembled as she pulled them away, she stared resolutely out the windshield as Kurt gave Dave directions to his place.

This was it. This made it official. Dave's knuckles were white again as he put the car into Drive and gripped the steering wheel again.

If Finn wanted to, he could destroy everything. He could tell about her, about Karofsky threatening him.

She thought of Brittany. When they were fourteen, they started all of this.

The part that made her feel as empty as she did was that at seventeen, she had probably ended all of it. That was the last time she was going to feel Brittany beneath her, her lips tingling on Britt's, her breath matching Britt's. That was it. She wasn't going to move on or forget. Without Brittany she was nothing. She would rather be nothing. She would rather not be at all.

So nothing really mattered at all. She watched the headlights create a span of light on the dark road ahead. Nothing mattered and neither did this.


	9. Waking Up On the Other Side

A/N: I know I uploaded the last chapter like, two hours ago, but it wasn't too long and I wanted to give a little glimpse into Blaine's point of view before tomorrow, when I'll upload the next chapter. Which includes… I guess I can say safely, a weirdly-written Klaine make out session, yay.

I'm not an amazing writer haha, so I apologize if anything disappoints. Lemme know what you think!

* * *

><p>Santana stood beside Dave, who was as pale as a ghost with wide-eyes, behind Blaine and Kurt on Kurt's front porch. Kurt pulled his keys out of his coat pocket and turned it in the lock of the door. Blaine hadn't said a word since his outburst in the car and he looked miserable. He watched Kurt's hands with sad eyes through everything they did. His nails were digging into his palms at his sides.<p>

There really was something the matter with this boy.

Kurt pushed the door open. "Come on."

The entrance hall was dark but there were lights on in both of the doors leading to different rooms. When they were all in the house, Kurt shut the door softly and there was a moment of silence, save for the quiet, muffled sound of a tinny TV sports commentator coming from one of the rooms. Kurt inhaled and reached to his side to take Blaine's hand. It was clearly meant to be a natural act but Kurt looked far too tense and had clearly spent some time worrying over it seconds before. The way Blaine pulled his hand away and tucked it into his jacket pocket made Santana's stomach twist. Kurt closed his fingers and put his hand in his pocket too, shoulders showing evidence of his shaky exhale. Santana bit her lip tightly on the suture-free side.

"Dad?" Kurt leant through one of the doorways. She saw Burt Hummel, leaning forward on a sofa, eyes on the TV that erupted into cheers. The man looked up and smiled.

"Yeah, I'm in - Hey, kiddo." He said, eyebrows furrowing when he looked at Kurt, "I thought you were sleeping over at that Rachel's house tonight."

"I - I was. But - Dad, um, something happened and we want to talk to you about it." Replied Kurt, too nervously to settle Santana's stomach.

"We?" Kurt's dad lifted himself off the couch, "Is she here?"

"No, it's -"

But Burt had already reached the doorway and seen them all. He stared at Dave's tall figure for a second and then grabbed Kurt's arm. "What the hell are you doing with my son? What the hell are you doing in my house?"

Santana swallowed. They hadn't even thought of this. Of how Dave had originally been the... well, not at all the victim. Shit, shit, there was no way. They had to go. She tightened her fingers in her pockets. *Shit, shit, shit.*

"Mr Hummel," Blaine stepped forward. Santana lowered her eyebrows. "If you just - give us a second to explain."

What the hell? This kid was speaking in perfectly good manners, barely a hint of the shaky anguish he'd been in just seconds ago. She glanced up at Dave, who looked back with eyes just as confused as hers.

"Dad, this is Santana. Please don't freak out. David hasn't done anything and he's not going to." Kurt told his father desperately, "S - something - uh, something happened with Finn."

Kurt's dad looked skeptical. He sent a malevolent glare Dave's way and moved past them. They followed him to the kitchen. "Well, you gonna tell me what's going on?"

Kurt sighed and glanced at Santana. She swallowed dryly and nodded. She had a sick feeling in her chest. She twisted her fingers together out of nervous habit. She had to keep a straight game face. If she reacted the way she had in Glee that one time, that was it. Game over in one go.

Kurt swallowed and avoided Blaine's gaze as he turned back to his father and told the whole story.

* * *

><p>"Wait, so Finn did that to Blaine?" Mr Hummel gestured to Blaine's slightly swollen, stitched lip. "I've got to talk to Carole about -"<p>

"It's not Finn's fault." said Blaine loudly, "I hit him first. I was kind of asking for it. I deserved it." He added with a shrug.

"Blaine, that's not asking for it and it's not defense!" exclaimed Burt Hummel, hands on the counter, eyes on fire.

"You didn't even hit him!" Dave threw in loudly. Burt shot him a surprised but angry glare.

"What the hell was he even doing there?" asked Burt angrily, indicating to Dave, who seemed to wither under his gaze.

"Dad!" exclaimed Kurt, "If he *wasn't* there, I'm pretty sure Finn would've thrown a punch at _Santana_and sexism aside, we all know that's not at all the same as hitting me or Blaine." He moved forward, gripping the edge of the counter, "You have to do something. Finn's going to tell everybody."

"Hold on a second," Burt cut in, "What would Finn tell everyone?"

This was the part. Kurt had purposely left out Santana's name and while at first it confused her, she saw his desperate glances at her, watching her with careful eyes. She supposed she deserved it. What left a dry sort of ache in her chest was the way he looked at Blaine with hurt, desperate eyes and kept clenching and unclenching his rejected hand.

Kurt turned around and looked Santana in the eye, with a question in his eyes. She glanced up at the expectant-looking Burt and swallowed.

It was just one person and he barely knew her. What judgments could he make?

It struck her then. With Kurt as his son, there were no judgments he could or would make. There was no question of acceptance because he clearly loved his son and he had to understand. He *had* to.

"He's not going to tell anyone." Kurt told her quietly under his breath softly, "He'll understand."

She nodded and kept her eyes on her hands, twisted together. Kurt nodded at her, eyes careful and nervous. He gazed at Blaine with a longing, worried sort of look that made her heart give a squeeze.

Here she was, in _Kurt Hummel's_ house with _Dave Karofsky_ who turned out to be gay who she _didn't_want to punch in the face (well, besides maybe a little bit), standing behind the competition's tiny lead soloist who was also gay, worrying like it was her job over the fact that she, Santana Lopez, was a thread away from being outed to everybody. It was a situation she never expected to be in and for the most part, a situation she never wanted to be in.

Blaine reached back slowly and grasped the hem of her coat pocket, the closest to holding her hand without actually doing it. She loosened her fist inside her pocket.

"Dad, you're kind of the only one not on the other team in this room." said Kurt quietly.

Burt looked confusedly at his son for a minute and then his gaze travelled across Blaine and to Dave.

"Him?" Burt's eyes flamed on. Santana held her breath. "Him? Kurt, him too?"

She watched Dave from the corner of her eye. He swallowed and looked guiltily and painfully at the counter away from Burt.

"Um," Kurt looked back at Dave, eyes guilty and nodded, "Yeah. Yeah, him too."

"So you're telling me the kid that pushed you around because he didn't like *you* being gay... is gay?" said Burt slowly, "The kid that threatened -"

"Dad, please. I haven't forgotten that either, alright? But it's not about that!" insisted Kurt, looking from Dave to his father almost frantically.

"This kid made our lives hell, specifically yours!" Burt shouted. Santana's fingers twitched in her pockets. Nobody had really thought this part through.

"I know that, but this is about what Finn did. He hit Blaine so hard in the face that Santana still has his blood on her hands and we had to take him to get stitches, even if he did throw the first punch!" Kurt yelled back so furiously that they all froze, "He found out about Santana and the first thing he did was call her boyfriend!"

Burt tilted his head, confused, "Wait, he found out what about Santana?"

Kurt's mouth formed a frustrated line. "Dad, I actually meant that. You're the the only, um, straight person in this room."

It took a moment but comprehension soon dawned on Kurt's father's face. He looked at Kurt cautiously. "Her too?" he asked quietly.

"Well, yeah, Dad. I meant her too."

"Do your parents know?"

That started a whole new chain of panic. Why should my parents know? They can't know. Why does it matter? And most of all; will you tell them? Panic bubbled up from the pit of her stomach. No, no, no. Not now. It was just a question.

But she couldn't do it. She couldn't answer that question because she couldn't stop thinking of outcomes.

Blaine moved his hand near her pocket and wove his fingers gently with hers. Something in her chest loosened.

"No." She said quietly, "Nobody knows and I don't want anyone else to find out ever."

Kurt kept his eyes on the floor, looking disappointed in someone.

"You don't want anybody to know *ever*?" echoed Burt, eyebrows low, "Honey, you can't -"

"Yes, I can." She said quickly, tightening her fingers around Blaine's involunarily. She could and she would. She'd already settled on that. If she could keep Brittany a secret for as long as she did, she could keep that a secret too.

"Look, if you're worried about your parents, if they love you like - "

"I don't mean to be rude," she said, biting back the tremors in her voice, "But I know Kurt's tried to give me the coming out talk a few times and it's not going to happen. I just - I just can't."

Kurt looked like he had a million things to say but he pressed his lips together. Blaine's fingers tightened around hers.

There was no coming out. Not with parents like hers or a school like hers or no possibility of love anyway. Why did it even matter? It wasn't torturing anyone else. She wasn't hurting anyone.

She knew what Kurt would say to that. *Except yourself*.

But some things just couldn't be helped.

Burt gave her an incredulous look, looking distantly angry and at a loss, "Well, clearly you're not... ready... and I'm going to try to make sure Finn will respect that."

When Santana tightened her fingers reflexively, she felt a familiar tug in her pinky and something cold shot through her spine. Brittanybrittanybrittany. Brittany no more.

She untied her fingers from Blaine's and stepped back. She felt Dave's eyes on her.

"Carole could probably -" Burt started, reaching into his back pocket.

"Dad - dad, don't -"

She just felt lost and an overwhelming need to cry. This was a mistake. Telling Burt, telling Kurt, telling Blaine, telling Dave, telling Brittany, Finn finding out. Now they wanted to tell Carole, whoever Carole was. One more person. There was no thinking time in between. Edges were starting to crumble.

"Shit - I mean - yeah, shit, okay. Let's go."

She felt herself behind steered by too-hot hands and silence and silence and silence.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Blaine<strong>_

"You mind telling me what the hell is really going on?"

"You can't do that!" exclaimed Kurt frustratedly, throwing one hand in the air, "You can't just tell people, Dad! Did you even look at that girl when *you* found out? She just loses it, Dad! Not everybody can handle it like Blaine and I can!"

Blaine's fingers trembled. All he wanted was Kurt but he couldn't. Not until he stopped thinking the way he used to. It was dangerous and it was really starting to terrify him.

It was like it was set up. Karofsky being beaten up, Santana slowly *becoming* the former him which was becoming the current him. He couldn't go back there.

Kurt's hands were pale and soft and gentle. He couldn't ruin that. He couldn't ruin Kurt. Kurt was perfect and anything less made by his own faults would kill him.

It was going to kill him from the inside out. But if he took Kurt down first it would kill him from the outside in.

And he was watching Santana tearing herself down brick by brick without saying a word. He knew exactly what was going on inside her head and yet he didn't care enough to save her and that was bringing everything back. It was making him the bad person he really was inside again.

"You can't - you can't tell Carole." said Kurt shakily, "She doesn't - she can't handle that."

"What's wrong with her?" Burt asked calmly, "I mean - you know, what's going on, Kurt? Why are you boys suddenly hanging around that Karofsky kid and... you know, her? You know I don't mean it in any negative way, but by the looks of her, she's not - you know - Glee Club status."

Blaine swallowed. Looks can be decieving.

"I don't know what's going on." The sadness in Kurt's voice made Blaine's chest hurt. He didn't know. He was too... Kurt was too innocent. He had bright eyes and even if Karofsky might have dimmed them, he was still too willing to see the bright side of everything.

"She panics." continued Kurt nervously, "She panics when, I don't know, when we bring these things up. It just seems like - like... like it's eating her up on the inside."

Burt's eyes widened and sparkled with concern, "D'you ever think she might be having, you know, real panic attacks? Did it ever cross your mind that you should maybe talk to an adult?"

"Dad." Kurt breathed, face scared, "Can we just - that's not what we came to talk to you about. I just - we just need your help with Finn. I'm worried he's going to be really mad about it all and try to get David back but with other people. And I'm really, really worried that he's going to tell about Santana. Dad, you have to understand. That would *end* her."

Burt's eyes looked full of concern and he looked torn. Blaine stared at his feet. How did Santana matter so much?

He knew. It was because Kurt had an extra internal organ specifically to hold all of the compassion he had and couldn't push away.

And the fact that he was in love with Kurt couldn't have an impact. He had to fix it before he hurt somebody, including but not limited to Kurt.


	10. People are the Same, Only Habits Change

**A/N**: Hi again. Thanks to you who reviewed and/or favorited this story, it's really nice . Please let me know what you think of this chapter because… it's the first real look into Blaine's head. Kind of difficult to write haha. And Klaine. You'll find I'm addicted to Blaine and angst together. I don't know what it is about it.

The POVs are very – diverse? – from here on out, between three characters we all know and love hahaha. Different perspectives and things.

Expect _Angry Santana_ soon hahaha.

* * *

><p>Burt looked thoughtful for a moment before sighing and nodding, rubbing his hands over his face. "Alright. Well, I need you to promise me you're going to try to - I don't know, to help out that Santana."<p>

Kurt nodded, teeth tightly clamped over his bottom lip. Blaine swallowed, his heart pounding in his chest. It was those moments when the all-familiar thoughts in his head swirled that he just felt a need for Kurt nearly to the point of pain. He just wanted to pin him on the couch of his basement and hear his excited, breathless laugh as he pressed his lips to his neck. He would even settle for the cold floor of Rachel's basement bathroom with a very tipsy, giggly Kurt pressing his wrist by his head to plant a long, forceful kiss on his mouth. The place they'd been barely a few hours ago. But as Kurt sobered up, he could tell that Blaine's kisses were too soft and his breathing was too shaky to not have anything painful on his mind. So he couldn't. Even if he desperately wanted to. Kurt would sense it and want to talk and he was afraid of talking about those things to Kurt more than to anyone else.

Kurt already knew. Santana's rant from that time outside her locker had it written all inside. It was a simple slip-up but he'd been there before. It was a spark of luck whenever nobody noticed. It sent him into a whirlwind of panic and terror that was too familiar and by the time Kurt had him out of the school he had gone back to before, building a wall the size of the lump in his throat, letting the black splotches fill in his vision.

Until his legs couldn't walk that fast anymore, it worked. He didn't think about the blood or the bruises or the scarlet span of broken skin. But as the grass toward the parking lot became a slow-moving liquid cement, he was slowing down and the ground was pulling him toward it.

Kurt's cool hand was one thing he felt on his body and he knew what was happening. Blaine knew that this was what used to happen. He used to shut out everything at even the slightest reminder of what should have been of him.

_I'm so scared to be this way, I'm so finished and I'm so tired and even though sometimes I think that it would be easier, I haven't - I don't know - like, killed myself off yet, okay?_

He was so good, so strong, so perfect, so _close_. His only weaknesses were Kurt and reminders. And putting the two together would have him in tiny broken pieces.

"Blaine? Blaine." He kept hearing Kurt's voice but suddenly it was the previous years for everywhere but his hand.

But he _couldn't._ He couldn't do that again. That was _hell._ It was hell and he was letting himself become that again.

However, once the wall was up, the wall was up. Almost nothing could pull him out.

_God, I haven't jumped off a bridge yet, even though I'm just... I'm dying inside because of all this._

"Oh my God, Blaine." Kurt had his hands on Blaine's face, that he knew for sure. One on either side. Confused, frantic voice over the rush.

As quickly as it started, it stopped, and Blaine found himself sitting on the concrete with his back against Kurt's car. Kurt's face wavered in front of his face before solidifying. He was crouched in front of him. His eyes were wide and he held Blaine's face with both hands.

"Sorry, sorry." His voice felt runny, slurred and his words trailed. He swallowed thickly, trying to get the blue of Kurt's eyes into focus.

Kurt sighed loudly, laughing quietly without smiling out of relief, "God, I just about had a heart attack." His eyes went back to frightened just as fast as they'd changed. "What's going on? What's wrong?"

Blaine's hands trembled as he raised them to press them onto the back of Kurt's neck and pull him down toward him. Kurt paused, eyes scanning over his face worriedly, and then ducked his head. Blaine pulled him in and pressed his lips to Kurt's. Kurt pressed one hand onto the car behind Blaine's head, moving his head to a more accessible angle.

Blaine's head spun. He moved his hand to Kurt's cheek, touching his skin gently and wanting to never let go. Feeling himself slipping into old habits was scaring him and all he wanted then was to let Kurt unknowingly hold him down like a rope to a hot air balloon. He pushed deeper into the kiss, lips tingling. He pulled back minutely, their noses still touching, "I love you." He whispered, breaths coming shakily. Just seconds ago he was falling apart like he was destined to and he needed to hold himself down now. Make it real.

Kurt pulled away and pushed Blaine lightly back onto the car, breathless. "And I love you too." He told him with a sort of sad worry in his eyes that made Blaine's chest tighten, "What's going on, Blaine? You just stopped walking with me and I thought you were going to pass out. I had to sit you down."

What was wrong? He was wrong. Well, the Blaine Anderson Kurt met and knew was right, but the deep down Blaine was wrong and Blaine was letting him escape. He stared at Kurt's lips. It was easier to feel okay when Kurt was kissing him. It was easier to avoid talking, too. He swallowed tightly, knowing words wouldn't come easily.

"Blaine, please talk to me." Kurt was starting to sound frantic again, concern seeping through the calm front. He stroked his thumb over Blaine's cheek. "You're really freaking me out."

That was the opposite of his aim. He leaned forward, his mouth millimetres from Kurt's, feeling Kurt's breath on his lips, until Kurt laid a hand on his chest and pushed him back. "No, Blaine, stop. You can't just kiss me to not give me an answer. Because it's working. And I want to know what the hell is going on."

Sorrow filled Blaine up like a balloon, rising through his stomach and chest, resting in his throat. He was going to hurt Kurt too but he couldn't tell him. He couldn't. His hands trembled. His breath felt tight and shaky. He was really not able to put away his problems for two goddamn seconds to tell Kurt it was fine and go home. It was pathetic. Frantic panic rose with the cloud of despair that was settling around him like fog.

Kurt frowned, his eyes so sad and confused and _worried_. He lifted Blaine's hand off his cheek and pressed his lips to Blaine's palm. He kissed his fingers, keeping his scared, calculating eyes on him. "It's gonna' be okay." He breathed against Blaine's hand, "I promise."

In all the months and days and weeks and hours Blaine had been unable to even form words other than, "I'm too scared to live." and "The world looks different now." and he'd lived in a place of utter darkness, pushing against it almost only to tell his father the things he wanted to hear, nobody had ever really _cared_ or even understood. Blaine's eyes swam, pooling with unwanted tears.

Kurt pulled him forward, one hand behind his back and the other still on his hand, and held him for a moment of silence. Blaine didn't move, still trying desperately to swallow his tears.

"Was it Santana? She doesn't mean it, Blaine. She doesn't hate you or anything." Kurt said quietly. There was a long moment of silence. Blaine's heart pounded in his chest, feeling too heavy to be real. He was starting to get that dreamy feeling, like it wasn't real. That waiting feeling, waiting to wake up.

Kurt was thoughtful. He pulled back suddenly, eyes wide. "Wait a minute - Blaine." Blaine felt his face pulled up by his chin. He tried to keep his gaze on Kurt's ocean eyes. "Blaine, honey, she didn't mean that. She didn't mean she was going to kill herself. Is that what you're upset about?"

He wanted to throw up. The perfect secrets perfectly kept to make the perfect Blaine. The only reason Blaine felt so attached to Perfect Blaine anymore was Kurt now, and once Kurt got a look at this Blaine, he would run for the hills. The sorrow and loss and hurt bubbled up in his throat.

"Blaine, it's okay." Kurt ducked his head and looked into Blaine's suddenly streaming eyes. He didn't even realize he was crying. "She didn't mean that."

"I did." He breathed, his voice sounding hoarse and strange to his ears, "I meant it."

Kurt's eyes squeezed shut and his mouth tensed like he was trying not to let something out. He knelt forward and leaned his forehead against Blaine's shoulder. "Please don't say that." And it sounded like he was almost crying too, which made Blaine cry harder.

Harried, blurry minutes passed and Kurt had his arm around Blaine's waist, coaxing him into the passenger side of the car, his fingers twined tightly around Blaine's. Blaine exhaled quietly, breath faltering for just a second. Kurt leaned into the car, knees resting on the edge. He bit his lip, eyes scanning over Blaine's face, and he squeezed his fingers tighter. Blaine licked his bottom lip. He felt exhausted. He had a wall to build back up. Kurt pushed forward and kissed him full on the mouth with such force that Blaine's head fell back onto the headrest. Kurt's hand climbed up Blaine's chest and twined into his hair, tilting his head. Blaine reached and pulled Kurt's waist, pulling him toward him. Kurt climbed over the seat, resting on Blaine's lap, one knee balanced on one side and the other sturdy on the other side. Blaine's head was spinning. One of them sighed, he wasn't sure if it was himself. He pushed forward into the kiss, head tilted to the side. His lips tingled like he wanted them to. Kurt hooked one finger through one of the belt loops in Blaine's jeans, the other hand resting at the base of his neck, fingers on the buttons of his school shirt. He was breathless. He could _have_ Kurt, really have him, be pulled right down to the ground and then hold him like nothing mattered because it didn't, just them. Kurt pushed up, straddling his lap, pressing forcefully into the kiss. He had the buttons undone all the way down his chest. Blaine had both hands on the collar of Kurt's shirt. Since when was Kurt so brave?

He glanced down. His shirt rested over his heart still, falling open on the other side, covering the spot he felt sickened at. Good.

Not even Kurt could completely kill it all.

Suddenly, Blaine was in his room at Dalton, gaze on the ceiling, chest on the misery. His heart thumped and his vision swam. He didn't remember much from that night besides the rushing in his ears and the bang when the door opened and Wes's shivering face and then the fluorescent bathroom lights. Everything trembled in his vision. When he woke up it was on his bare back on the cold bathroom tiles, lights swimming above him. Wes had his warm hand on his arm, kneeling beside him.

"Damn it, Blaine!" he muttered, frustrated. His voice sounded strange through a trembling lip and frantic tears. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Wes found him shirtless on the floor, staring at the ceiling with glazed eyes and an empty bottle of some kind of pills beside him. Pulled him into the bathroom and somehow he ended up puking it all up with Wes's coaxing. Fell back sweating, white lights dancing in front of his eyes and Wes yelling -

Kurt sighed, one hand on the back of his neck and the other resting on his chest. Blaine gasped and turned his head, heart racing. He felt Kurt's breath on his cheek. "Blaine?"

"I'm sorry." He gasped, his voice breaking, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, just - just gimme' a minute." His breathing was a notch away from hyperventilating. He dropped his hands into his lap. Did he want to die then? He didn't remember anything before he took the pills. Just being cold and numb and confused and scared. He remembered he would count the thumping beats of his heart to make sure he was still alive. And then one day, he tried to change that. He didn't know what happened to lead up to it, what happened after. His head spun.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have -" Kurt rambled breathlessly, fumbling with Blaine's buttons to redo them, "Not after that - that was - that was stupid of me -"

Blaine's chest rose and fell rapidly. He clung to Kurt's shirt with both hands. "It's not your fault." He breathed, still breathing like he'd run a marathon, "It's just me, just give me a second."

Kurt stopped with his shirt and slouched, breathing hard. His hands folded together on Blaine's stomach. They sat in silence, the only sound the sound of their heavy breathing. Kurt leaned forward, laying his head on Blaine's shoulder.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, raising one hand to rest on Blaine's chest. Blaine could feel his fluttering breath on his neck. It sent shivers down his spine. "I don't - I just - you scared me. I just - I wanted to make it real again. It's just - just stupid, I'm sorry."

Blaine turned his head, resting his cheek on the top of Kurt's head. He raised his hand to Kurt's cheek. "I don't know what comes over us sometimes." He said, trying to sound playful. He just sounded morose. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Kurt moved forward, pressing his lips to Blaine's neck. They sat like that for a moment. "I love you." whispered Kurt quietly, running his hand down Blaine's chest, "Please let that be one reason to live. I can't live without you."

Blaine's heart pounded in his chest, he was surprised Kurt couldn't hear it. He pushed Kurt's hair off his forehead with his fingers. He'd never considered any reasons to live and he didn't know how to start. "I do want to live. I never said I didn't."

"I'm not... I'm not stupid, Blaine." Kurt murmured, "I heard you. I just - don't say that. I love you. I love you and I'm asking you to love me too."

Blaine swallowed, chest constricting. He loved Kurt. More than he loved anyone else he'd ever known including himself. "I do love you."

He could feel Kurt's warm forehead on the crook between his neck and shoulder and it was starting to be all he could feel, Kurt's voice all he could hear. He couldn't lose focus, not now.

"Love me enough." said Kurt quietly, his voice trembling.

"I would die for you." Blaine said, and found it to be true.

Kurt pulled back and looked him in the eyes, scanning over his face worriedly. He licked his top lip and pressed his mouth onto Blaine's suddenly. Blaine's heartbeat tripled. He was briefly worried he was about to have a heart attack. He gripped Kurt's face with both hands, sighing. Kurt's warmth filled him and he felt like he was inflating.

Kurt pulled back, biting down on his bottom lip. He kept his eyes on Blaine's. "I don't want you to die for me." He whispered, stroking his thumb across Blaine's bottom lip, "I want you to want to live for me. Always."

Blaine could do little more than nod vigorously. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was watching blood pool on the pale skin of forearm -

No. Not now, not ever. He couldn't go back there, not again.

Kurt got off of him and pushed the car door open. He stepped outside, where it had begun to rain. He pulled out his cell phone.

"David Karofsky? Yeah, no, it's Kurt." said Kurt into the phone. Blaine was still trying to calm the rushing of his blood, too stunned still from before to be surprised. "I know. Look, where are you? You - because you need to come over to the school... No, it's Santana. I didn't see her leave and she said some things... I'm not going to repeat them, okay? No, we can't." He glanced down at Blaine who gazed back with wide eyes, throat visibly tight, and moved slightly away from the car, "She - she said some - look, I have to take Blaine home. He's not - he's not in good shape right now."

Blaine stopped listening then. He wished he could turn back into Perfect Warbler Blaine. His head hurt. Kurt knew. Kurt was scared. He'd failed.


	11. As We Sleep We Walk

**A/N**: Angsty Blaine, which everybody loves, right? Anyways. Thank you for the reviews and I'm happy that you like it (and for those who don't… sorry haha). To those of you who said you can relate, that makes me quite sad because nobody is very happy in this story, but I'm happy I could write something that is at least a little relatable. I hope you enjoy this story and I hope you enjoy this chapter. And if you can relate, I hope you feel better soon and enjoy this story too.

I'm sorry, I just like to make characters miserable, and that's all I'll ever do. This chapter isn't even near the end.

We're just getting started.

* * *

><p>"Please, Blaine, please." begged Kurt shakily, "Don't do this to yourself."<p>

They were outside Kurt's house, waiting to see where Karofsky and Santana were and waiting for Kurt's father to leave to get drunken Finn. Blaine fell back against the house's wall. Kurt closed in on him, eyes tortured, caging around him, hands on the wall behind him.

Blaine squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could, head throbbing, and shook his head vigorously. He bit his lip and gasped at the sudden pain there. Goddamn Finn.

"I'm going to kill Finn for all of this." said Kurt, his blue eyes desperate, "I won't let anyone hurt you again, I promise." He touched Blaine's lip with his finger and leaned forward, touching his lips feather-light to his new scar. Blaine's heart pounded in his chest. The touch sent a shock through his body.

"I can see it when you shut out like that. I can see it." Kurt murmured, stroking his thumb across Blaine's cheek, "Don't do this to yourself."

Blaine tried to shrink into the wall. His breath was shallow. "I'm not." He gasped quietly, wincing, "I'm not... doing anything."

Kurt's eyes flashed, "I'm so sorry about in the car. You were right. I was being awful. I shouldn't have - shouldn't have pressured her into telling. She didn't - she didn't want that. I know that now."

Blaine swallowed, leaning his head back, eyes shut against Kurt's blue eyes and scared face. "Please still be in love with me."

He froze, his heart faltering. He didn't know where that came from. It was just like before. His body was doing things and his brain never gave permission. Kurt curved one hand over the side of Blaine's exposed neck and ducked his head, pressing his lips to the soft skin there. He shivered and the world shivered with him to another time.

A boy was lying on the floor of a school dorm in a white school shirt open over his torso and pants. Even inside this body, he didn't know that it was him. He was floating somewhere in the clouds but the demons followed him everywhere. Nothing much else after that. The lights above grew fuzzy. His hand grew slick with his own blood. He wondered if he would forever be the only one that knew that his shirt's original colour was not the angry colour of blood. Sometime as the room grew dimmer and dimmer and the door opened to a breathing human, he shut out and he breathed to forget.

Sometime as a towel was pressed too tightly to his chest, over the sound of Wes's angry tears, he said, "Do you think they will be happy now?"

Wes cried harder, pushing the towel down harder.

"I'm gay." he said, his words slurring like his mouth was full of water. He'd never said that before.

"You're a fucking idiot, that's what you are." sobbed Wes.

He forgot what happened next but the number 37 swirled in his brain sometimes. He wondered if it was the number of stitches it took to close up the wound he'd sliced with a knife on his chest.

"I'll always be in love with you." he heard Kurt say. His vision was blocked by innumerable black swirls. His eyes were wide but he couldn't see outside of his head. "Blaine? Oh God, Blaine, Blaine, please come back to me."

He wanted to. He wanted to stay with him forever. He lifted his hand mechanically to his coat and pried the buttons open with his fingers. Kurt stepped back, breathing quietly, one hand on his own chest.

Blaine pulled apart the buttons and reached for his shirt. He pulled the shirt over his chest, away from his heart, buttons popping in his swift, rough grip.

Kurt had been on the edge, Blaine had screwed up again. Kurt furrowed his eyebrows, tilted his head. Blaine's hands were shaking.

"How did _that_happen -"

"I don't mean it anymore, Kurt." he said shakily, drawing words from some invisible courageous place, "Not anymore."

Kurt noticed the emphasis. He stared at Blaine, puzzled, shoulders rising and falling with each quickening breath. Blaine waited, holding his breath. He waited for him to realize.

Kurt's eyes widened and he raised his hands to cover his mouth. He shook his head frantically, stepping back slightly. Blaine didn't miss it. He'd screwed up again and again.

On his chest shone a shiny double scar, a large, spiky "X". X marks the spot I don't want to move anymore. He wondered whether that thought was new or old.

Now Kurt's eyes were brimming with tears that spilled over and he wanted nothing more than to curl up and die in his arms, pushing against the miserable thoughts that were coming back. He'd never showed that to anybody.

Kurt moved forward, closing his eyes over tears tightly and placed one hand over his heart, over the "X". He curled his hands, fingers digging into the skin, and buried his face on Blaine's shoulder. Blaine reached and twined his fingers slowly and gently into Kurt's. He felt numb to everything but this. His chest constricted painfully, a knife in his gut that stabbed deeper with every one of Kurt's shaking breaths. His fault. He made Kurt cry.

"You boys go inside while I -" Burt stepped out of the front door, freezing at the sight of them. He reacted instinctively, pulling Kurt away and shoving a hand onto Blaine's chest so hard he fell back against the wall again. He raised his hands by his head, turning his head to the side and bracing himself. Reflex since he got the shit beaten out of him at Sadie Hawkins.

"What the hell'd you do to my son?" growled Burt, eyes on fire, "Eh? I thought you were the good guy -"

Kurt moved around his father and pressed his hand onto Blaine's chest again, over the scars, over the "X". Burt pulled back, eyes confused and wide. Kurt pulled Blaine's face by his chin. Blaine tried to close his eyes to Kurt's red eyes, his tear-streaked face, his trembling lips.

"No, look at me." said Kurt, surprisingly sternly for someone whose voice was shaking and close to tears, "Can you just listen to me for one fucking second?"

He could hear words but wasn't comprehending. His head was spinning. He was back at - no, hold. Not now. Everything was starting to slip. Words, time, life... and now Kurt. He couldn't let go of Kurt. He had to keep focusing.

"You can't, can you?" Kurt whispered, fingers digging into his chest slightly, "You're already too far away."

"Don't leave me yet." Blaine breathed, using all his energy to stay in this world, to breathe the same air as Kurt and focus on his touch. His last card to play. Beg. _I love you_. Beg_. Stay with me._

Kurt turned to his father, "I'm going to kick Finn's ass all the way to next Tuesday."

Burt's eyes were agonized. He looked beyond words. He kept one eye on Blaine gasping with a hand over his heart or, unbeknownst to Burt, his scars. He flicked back to Kurt. "We'll see who kicks his ass first."

And with that he turned and walked toward his car, anger fueling his every movement.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Burt Hummel<strong>_

An outsider would be worried. Burt Hummel pressed the doorbell to the Berry residence, which had a low bass tune blaring from somewhere underground, so it seemed. Somebody exclaimed in excitement and the door was pulled open. It took two and a half seconds for the grin to slip right off of Rachel Berry's face.

"Mr Hummel!" she exclaimed, sounding slurred and smelling like wine coolers, "_I_am afraid you'll have to come back later... sir... because... Kurt is absolutely not here at all whatsoever."

Burt didn't have time or patience to deal with drunken teenagers. He stepped around Rachel, into the house and followed the increasing evidence of party activity. The music was blasting from the basement.

"This! This is breaking and kidnapping!" exclaimed Berry from behind him, giggling.

He stepped down the stairs and saw twelve or so wildly dancing kids. He didn't recognize a few of them. He figured they were Glee kids.

By the stereo was Finn, looking exuberant but somehow paranoid. He stepped as quickly as possible toward him, ignoring the silence and shocked looks he was earning from the kids he passed. The kid in the wheelchair lowered his glasses and drawled, "Aw, what the _hell_?"

He reached Finn just in time for him to look up with wide, terror-filled eyes and grabbed the back of his shirt. He turned around and dragged him across the room.

"Burt, let go!"

"You know Blaine had to get stitches? You know what else is weird? That you did it and Dave Karofsky drove him to the clinic and came to our house." He said loudly, "Which is kind of weird because I always thought _he_ was the bad guy and _you_were the good guy."

Finn looked furious, "It's not my fault that Kurt's a fag! It's not my fault they're all fags! I bet nobody knew about that one, huh? That Sa -"

Burt clapped his hand over Finn's mouth. "Don't do it, Finn."

Every one of the Glee kids looked shocked and most had a face of complete disbelief and not at him. At Finn.

Which pleased him. He always hoped these kids were good to Kurt and Blaine and real against that kind of language.

He pulled Finn up to his car and slammed the passenger door when he steered him in. As he shoved the keys in the ignition, he turned to him.

"I'm really disappointed in you, Finn."


	12. Look At Us Shake the Sky

**A/N**: Oh boy. I've got it BAD. I'm HOOKED and I can't STOP. I like to make Kurt cry. I think crying Kurt is the worst heart hurt. Also crying Blaine.

That's all I'll say.

Let me know what you think! I really appreciate any and all reviews, they are so special to me. :)

* * *

><p>Burt rubbed his hands together, his breath forming steam in the cold night. He pushed the front door open and stepped back, gesturing for Finn to step inside.<p>

"How much did you drink?" asked Burt seriously, stepping in after Finn and shrugging his jacket off.

Finn turned and glared at him furiously, mouth in a line. "I don't answer to you."

Burt shut the door and stepped in front of Finn, "Actually, you do." he snapped, eyes burning in Finn's direction. Finn swayed, narrowed his eyes and stomped off to the kitchen.

"I didn't do anything to Kurt." He said, voice slurred slightly. Burt pulled back a chair at the counter and Finn flopped down. He moved around the table, dropping his keys on the counter.

"We're going to talk about a few things." He said, leaning forward on his elbows on the counter, folding his arms, "First, being a parent, the fact that you've been drinking."

"Kurt was drinking too!" Finn exclaimed, jumping up.

"Finn, sit down." He growled, patience wearing thin. "Second, if I ever hear you use the word 'fag' again, that will be it for you. You hear me?"

"Are you - are you threatening me?"

Burt nodded, eyes narrowed and glaring, "Yes, I am. I'm not messing around with you, Finn. You should be ashamed of yourself. _I'm_ashamed of you, to be honest."

Finn kept his eyes on the counter, hands balled into fists.

"I told you. Dave Karofsky and Kurt had to take Blaine to get _stitches_because his lip was split open and he was bleeding enough to fill a bucket." Burt looked at him seriously, fighting the fury that was rising in him, "What do you think about that, Finn? How do you feel about the fact that you did that to kid half your size?"

Finn's eyebrows furrowed. He crossed his arms, eyes angry in a confused sort of way. Burt hoped to God he was understanding this. He could see that Santana girl's eyes, the sad, tight set of her mouth, the tears of panic that sprung to her eyes when she told of how she never wanted anyone to know. How she knew that he and Kurt and Blaine and Karofsky and now Finn knew.

"They all came over here, Blaine with his mouth full of sutures and Kurt looking _terrified_, the way he used to when that Karofsky kid was picking on him." said Burt, his voice filled with frustration and betrayal. "You did that to him again. You, who I trusted to make sure that didn't happen."

Finn's jaw clenched, eyes glaring forcefully at his hands. All Burt could think of was the obvious war in each of those kids' eyes. Santana's teeth biting down on her trembling lip, carefully avoiding the set of stitches over a red line there. Karofsky's guilty, self-blaming gaze at the tabletop, avoiding anybody's eyes. Kurt's weary voice, retelling a story with regret that it had to be told. Blaine's haunted, dark eyes staring at nothing. It was all he could do not to lunge across the counter strangle Finn for being half the cause.

He loved Finn, but the damage he had so casually caused and the things he was so blasé about saying made his blood boil with frustration and a hopeless feeling.

Suddenly, Finn looked up, eyes glaring with one last remark. "Was Santana here too?"

Burt nodded.

"She's dating Karofsky but I found out she's actually a huge dyke -"

"Don't use that goddamn language in this house!" The words burst out of Burt's mouth furiously and blaringly loud, echoing around the room when his fist hit the counter. Finn looked up with stunned, angry wide eyes.

Burt thought smoke was going to erupt from his ears. He worried about another heart attack, he was _that_furious. How could Finn keep doing that? How could he keep saying such awful things, being so awful, so unlike his mother? His son was one of the strongest people he knew in his life and if Kurt heard that way his brother, his friend was saying such terrible things about him and Santana and anyone in that situation, he would be able to see the hurt in his eyes that hit him in the heart like an arrow from a foot away. And that just pissed him off even more.

"Who are you yelling a-" His stomach dropped when Carole pushed open the kitchen door, wearing a hastily thrown on robe over her pajamas, speaking halfway through a yawn. Her eyes were tired but the second she saw them, they became immediately alert.

"I'm sorry, I can't." said Burt, shaking his head, feeling absolutely unable to deal with any of this, "I have to go find my son and Blaine to make sure nobody besides Finn has punched him in the face tonight." He looked pointedly at his wife, "I love you and I love this family. But I'm not going to put with that." He said simply, pointing at Finn. He grabbed his keys and moved around Carole, feeling a great sense of hurt in his chest.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Blaine<strong>_

Blaine sat in the passenger seat of Kurt's car. He could feel his racing pulse in the tips of his fingers that were twined through Kurt's. They weren't driving. Kurt had pulled over somewhere along a street in Lima Heights Adjacent. He was crying too hard to drive. Blaine didn't know what to do now.

"Kurt?" He said quietly, peering around toward Kurt. He had one hand on the wheel like he wanted to drive. His eyes were wide, tears still streaming down, following the same tracks, dropping off his chin. Blaine lifted Kurt's hand with his and pressed Kurt's fingers to his lips. He had hurt Kurt. Kurt was the only thing he loved and he was hurting him. It filled him up with so much despair that the logic was creeping back in. Hurt someone. Hurt yourself. Balance. He furrowed his eyebrows, biting the inside of his cheek.

Kurt's gaze didn't change. His mouth was slightly open with words unsaid.

"I'm sorry." Blaine whispered against Kurt's shaking hand. He was full to the brim with regret. The scar tingled in a perfect "X" over his heart. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Kurt shut his eyes and shook his head.

Blaine kissed the fingers woven in his, a dreadful sense of guilt and regret sitting at the bottom of his stomach. He swallowed. He shouldn't have shown Kurt that. He didn't even remember thinking before he did. He just did it. He just felt like it was the only thing he could do and he wanted Kurt to know how screwed up he really was. His head throbbed. It was the wrong thing to do.

He leaned his cheek against their hands, wanting to take it all back. The only thing he really cared about in the world knew now how stupid it was to be around him.

"I shouldn't have shown you that." He said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Kurt shook his head again; eyes still shut tight, face contorted. Blaine shifted in his seat, clamping his teeth over his trembling lip. He knew he should tell Kurt that it was okay, that staying away from him made sense and that's what he should want.

"You - you -" He took a deep breath, watching Kurt's face carefully, "Somebody better. You deserve somebody better."

Kurt finally turned to look at him so fast Blaine flinched. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Blaine stared at him, frowning.

"Why didn't you tell me about -" He gestured blatantly, "What's going on? I want to know. How did that happen?"

Blaine's heart fell to the pit of his stomach. He loosened his grip and dropped Kurt's hand. He wouldn't tell. He couldn't. He didn't want to talk about it all; he didn't want to relive that, to become that again.

He felt like it was only a matter of time and that scared the hell out of him.

"I think you know." He said barely audibly, ducking his head and keeping his eyes on Kurt's hand, still upwards on the seat.

Kurt's eyes were on fire; Blaine could practically feel the heat. He glared so furiously that Blaine flinched back, taken aback, when he changed so fast. His face softened, his eyes anguished and desperate.

He leaned back into his seat, staring straight ahead again. Blaine let out a shaky breath. He was too disgusted to even look at him and he didn't blame him at all.

"Please look at me." He said, "Please. I'm not crazy. I swear that I'm not. Please look at me." His voice broke and he stared down ashamedly.

He felt Kurt's hand on his face and froze. Kurt pulled his face to look at him.

"I don't think that." He sounded desperate, urging him to understand, "I would never think that."

Blaine felt his stomach twist. He watched Kurt's eyes. The hurt was still there. It felt like one of the worst things he remembered doing in all his life. "I made you cry." He breathed, the truth in that resting in his heart like nails in a board. He hated himself more than he ever had for that.

Kurt's eyes scanned over his face, frightened and desperate at the same time, scared and determined, "Blaine, listen to me. Please. Please just come to me for five seconds and listen."

He didn't know how. He didn't remember how things looked if he was really there, only Kurt. He gazed out the dark window for a long moment. If he couldn't have Kurt, if he couldn't get him the way he wanted, he didn't want anything. He wouldn't have anything and he wouldn't ask for anything more than nothing. So he looked Kurt in the eyes.

Kurt's hand settled on Blaine's cheek. Blaine bit the inside of his lip. He was afraid it would give him away.

"Blaine, I love you. And I always will." He said each word with a small movement, staring so hard into Blaine's eyes that he was worried he was reading his mind. His heart fluttered like a bird trying to escape. "Get it? I love you. Like, a lot."

Blaine nodded, eyes burning. It didn't make sense to him. It couldn't be that much. Nobody stuck around that long.

Kurt lowered his head, leaning in, eyes burning. He looked over Blaine's face, sighing almost silently in a frustrated, sad way. "Blaine, I'm - I'm really scared."

Blaine's heart hammered in his chest. He thought if he died now from his heart stopping or something, at least he wouldn't have to hear this. But he had to know. He reached up and covered Kurt's hand with his own, weaving his fingers through. "Why?" He asked, his voice tiny and barely a breath. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to know it was his fault.

Kurt glanced down at Blaine's chest. Quick, but not quick enough for Blaine to miss it. His eyes burned.

"I'm scared because I love you more than you love you."

* * *

><p>AN: Oh man. Yeesh. Makes _me_ sad. But that's not saying much.


	13. Rattle the Ocean Till it Falls

**A/N**: It was really only three days, but that felt like a _long_ time between updates. And I feel bad, because this chapter was originally really not very exciting and quite lacking in the Blaine department and not very exciting in the Santana category. So I decided to make it longer. Which, you have to understand, is a really big deal for me because I'm getting closer and closer to where I'm presently writing, which is… kind of freaky haha.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Santana<strong>_

"This is it."

"No, it's not, Jesus!"

"Yes, it is. It's over."

"Stop. You just need to take a deep breath, okay?"

"No. I'm breaking up with you."

"Just take a breath, okay? Just breathe."

"Stop!" Because she couldn't just take a breath. Because it was all over and she came through it all with nothing. Because it had settled over her like a thick fog, settling on her skin like ash. Because in a series of shots, in a series of hazy days, her perfect plan had unraveled at top speed.

Dave Karofsky, school douchebag and known homophobe, sighed. "Don't be so sad. It'll get better."

They were sitting on the steps outside Kurt's house. She wasn't sure but she knew Dave had steered her out of the room and out of the house with a hand on her back. And she felt Blaine's fingers tug feather-light on the back of her sweater as she walked out.

Dave had led her halfway down the road before she realized. "Where are we going?" She asked, hands twisted together.

"My house." He said simply, "My parents aren't home for the weekend anyway."

It was about thirty seconds after that that they realized silently in unison that that was not the place they should be. So they turned around.

Dave Karofsky, absolute idiot but the only person she truly liked anymore, reached over and put his arm around her shoulder. She leaned in, exhausted.

"I guess you can still be my fake boyfriend." She murmured, yawning quietly.

He laughed, looking at her with one eyebrow raised. She glared back.

"I hope they come back soon." She sighed, "It's cold."

"Here -"

She held up a finger and raised both eyebrows, "I don't take jackets from anybody, so think again before you offer."

He sighed, "What about Brittany?"

She stiffened, eyes snapping wide. He didn't know _anything_ about Brittany. She jerked his arm off of her and stood up, crossing her arms over her chest. Dave Karofsky was still the douchebag and nothing changed because she was just as irrational. Now all she could think was Brittany's hands in her hair and her touch and now her rejection and the look in her eyes that said it was final. Her eyes filled with tears. She was the bitch that screwed around too much and screwed it all up. She'd had it coming; she just hadn't _seen_it coming.

"Come on, Santana," said Dave behind her, loudly, "You know I wasn't trying to hurt your feelings."

Truth be told, she knew, and that pissed her off. A few months ago she wouldn't even have considered the possibility of actual reasoning. She turned around.

"Look, before you bitch at me, you should listen to me for a second." He said, standing up, "None of us is going out of our way to hurt you." He was furious in a determined kind of way, his eyes serious and urging.

"So, what now? Now you tell me to stop going out of _my_way to hurt everybody and you leave. I've been here before." She said bitterly, squeezing her fingers so tightly together she was afraid they would break, "I'm sorry that I'm such a bitch, Karofsky."

He tilted his head to the side and stepped back, sitting down slowly. He raised his eyebrows at her. She sighed and went to sit beside him stiffly.

"Since when do you call me Karofsky?"

She glanced up at him and leaned onto his side, sighing. "Since when do you make sense?"

* * *

><p><em><strong>Burt<strong>_

Burt pulled up to the house and pulled the keys out of the ignition. He knew he should be angry at Kurt for disappearing without notice, but Kurt had sounded so worn out on the phone earlier that he didn't have the heart or the will. He just hoped that he was okay and whatever had happened with Blaine was resolved.

He wanted to push the doubt down. Blaine's face earlier brought a strange taste to his mouth. His eyes looked so dark and deep, it frightened him. No kid should be... haunted.

He pushed the front door, dread piercing his chest. He had been shockingly rude to his wife and he worried about what Finn would tell Carole. If Santana found out Finn had told even one person; he didn't want to think of how devastating that would be for her.

The hall was dark but there was a flickering light in the living room. He kicked off his shoes and pushed open the door.

Sitting at the end of the couch was Blaine, sitting straight and looking ahead, not even trying to pretend to actually watch the TV. Kurt was sitting close beside him, knees up and head on his shoulder, fast asleep from the looks of it. He didn't miss Kurt's hand clutching loosely to Blaine's sleeve, even in his sleep.

He was about to say something when he saw the huge Karofsky kid sitting at the other end of the sofa, with Santana asleep on his side like Kurt. He lowered his eyebrows, surprised and confused. He opened his mouth to ask Blaine what was going on when he felt a hand on his arm. He turned.

"So I spoke to Finn." said Carole, nodding, lips pressed together, "Well, hardly. He fell asleep at the table. I don't know what to say."

He took her by the shoulder and steered her into the other room and braced himself. "Look, Carole, I love Finn like he's my son, but he did a lot of damage. To all of those kids sitting in there."

Carole nodded, "I know. I came out after getting Finn upstairs and Santana and Karofsky were sitting on the porch and two minutes later, Kurt and Blaine pulled up." She glanced toward the door, "I really - I don't know if I want to get involved but they looked strange. Kurt looked... sad. They just walked over and sat with the other kids." She took Burt's hand and pulled it toward her. She looked regretful but worried. "Burt, I'm worried about Blaine. I'm wondering how good it is for Kurt to be around him."

"Blaine loves Kurt." said Burt simply.

"You should have seen the way he was. Kurt got out of the car and waited for Blaine but Blaine didn't get out and Kurt went around and pulled him out. He just looked... I don't know, kind of... disturbed."

Burt nodded, agreeing to that at the very least.

"I know Kurt loves Blaine. I'm just worrying about Blaine. It's silly." She smiled at him, though it faded, "When they were all sitting on the porch, Kurt kept looking at Blaine all concerned, but Blaine never responded. Kurt sort of took his hand but he had to reach down and close Blaine's fingers around it. And the Santana girl looked like she was about to drop dead where she stood. So I told Kurt to bring everyone inside and stay the night. It's already almost four, but I figured they'd sleep in the basement or something. Karofsky and Blaine just don't seem to be able to sleep."

Burt swallowed, peering around the door. The light still flickered in the room. "Well, I'll try to talk to Blaine, at the very least. If anything's going on at school or at home... I don't know, maybe he'll tell me."

Carole nodded and left the kitchen after kissing his cheek tiredly. He took a breath, readying himself. He stepped into the living room.

Karofsky's eyes looked at him, still guiltily. His eyes offered apology and distress. Burt reached over and took the remote, muting the TV. Blaine didn't move.

"Do you think you guys could make it down to the basement? There are two couches and a bed down there." He said quietly, mostly to Karofsky as he seemed to be the only one in a semi-coherent state. He nodded and moved slowly, trying not to rouse Santana, fast asleep curled into his side. Burt had already come to the conclusion that they weren't dating. Just pretending to. Or not really dating at all. They were a male and female couple of two gay kids. He supposed there was a term for that.

Still, he was surprised when Karofsky knelt down beside the couch where Santana had slid off from him. He had one hand twined through one of hers and nudged her lightly with the other. She sighed and flipped over.

"We're just going to move. Then you can sleep again." He murmured, leaning in close, speaking quietly. He sighed and wedged his arm underneath her back and the other under her knees. Burt was frozen, not sure whether to help him or stop him. He pulled Santana up, whose head flopped onto his chest. He bit his lip and gave Burt a look full of apologies. _You would do it too._said the look. And he had to hand it to him. He was right.

Burt pointed to the basement door and moved slowly toward Blaine. He put a hand on his shoulder. "Blaine, buddy, you guys are going to go downstairs. It's better to sleep."

"I'm not going to sleep." He said, eyes not moving.

Burt rubbed his hand across Blaine's shoulder, "I know, Blaine. Let's just get you all down there anyway."

Kurt shifted, sighing, his head slipping down Blaine's shoulder. This seemed to awaken Blaine, who immediately moved back, putting his arm under Kurt's body. He leaned down and lifted him back up.

"Hm?" Kurt sighed, stretching his arms out but not releasing Blaine's sleeve. Blaine caught his hand and ran his fingers across his hair.

"We're going to go downstairs." said Blaine, his voice tiny. Kurt nodded sleepily and sat up with a loud sigh. Blaine peered over at him, eyes full of concern. The kid was fully awake and alive when it came to Kurt. It brought a strange taste to Burt's mouth. Burt reached over and took Kurt's arm, steering him toward the basement. As Kurt clumped down the stairs, yawning, he shut the door almost all the way and turned to Blaine, who looked at him confusedly, but his eyes were blank.

"Blaine," He started, sighing. Blaine looked at him with frightened eyes. "Blaine, you made a difference in Kurt's life." He wasn't sure where his words were coming from; he just knew that he meant them. This boy helped bring the light back into his son's eyes. "You made his life a thousand times better and you made him feel better."

Blaine swallowed visibly, hands gripping his navy shirt at the bottom anxiously.

Burt put his hand on Blaine's arm, looking that messed-up kid in the eyes, "Just - Blaine, just know. Kurt and - and all of us. We're here to make you feel better too."

Blaine's eyes shifted, going from dark and haunted to hard in a second. His hands twisted through his navy blue shirt, the only giveaway of his nervousness. Burt worked hard not to regret saying what he said. It was _right_.

"I'm fine." Blaine said stiffly. He moved past Burt and slipped into the basement, moving silently down the stairs. Burt sighed.

It just seemed like everyone was "fine" until they did something stupid to show just how not "fine" they really were.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Blaine<strong>_

Kurt's basement smelled almost exactly like him, only not as warm or soft. Blaine had always thought that, every time they were down there to watch a movie or... have a movie on and do other things... He had always thought Kurt's basement was the one place he could see Kurt fit.

He fit well with Blaine too, but those thoughts made him feel nauseous. The amount that he wanted Kurt, the way he felt Kurt belonged with him, but he couldn't. It terrified him. The thought of being without him.

Blaine stepped quietly across the carpet, feeling around the dark. He bumped his shin into something hard.

"Shit." He hissed, reaching down to rub at the spot he hit. He stopped and narrowed his eyes. He _rarely_swore.

Although being around Santana would likely slowly change that.

"You okay?"

Blaine spun around, smacking hard on the wall. He jumped back, pulse racing in his throat.

"Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

The room was becoming clearer. He could see the shapes. It was Karofsky.

"I'm fine." he insisted, rubbing his shoulder where he'd hit the wall. "Is Kurt asleep?"

"Yeah." Karofsky nodded.

Blaine pushed away from the wall, "Where is he?"

"He's asleep on the bed." replied Karofsky, indicating at the corner where the bed was, "I put Santana there too. I hope... um - I hope you don't mind."

Blaine shook his head. He sat down on one of the couches. His head felt heavy. He brought his legs up and folded them. The room was silent. All he could hear was his loud pulse.

Why did it feel like he was living in long tunnel? It felt like the world was closing in on him, squeezing tighter and making it harder not to stumble. He was just too afraid to fall because he didn't know if he would be able to get back up.

The worst part was every time he thought he could see the light at the end, it turned out to be a train that just narrowly missed hitting him head on.


	14. Sleepless Eyes

**A/N: **This is going to be a confusing chapter. Stay tuned. I'm shoving a lot in your face at once. I'm gonna' fix the frustration.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Santana<strong>_

At first it was pathetic, punches that were hardly punches, more like slaps than anything. And she brought her arms to cover her face and then the blows got serious. Her arms were ripped down and pinned to the ground at her sides, twigs and rocks digging into her arms. Her side ached. Her eye was throbbing.

One final hit to the jaw and it was over. She opened her eyes and blinked, disoriented. One eye made everything blurry. Two tall boys stood over her. One was blinking confusedly, the other smirked.

"What'd -" She choked and leaned over. She spat out blood onto the ground. Her eyes widened and her chest heaved. "What'd I do?"

The smirking boy knelt down, one eyebrow raised. He looked away like he was thinking, but she knew he wasn't.

"We already have that homo Hummel, we don't need another one." The boy said.

She was confused at first. Who was Homo Hummel? And then it hit her in the face like a slap harder than any of the blows that caused the bruises she knew were blooming on her face and arms. Hummel was gay. Hummel was the kid in her Spanish class. With the purple shoelaces.

But _she_wasn't like him!

First of all, if he really was gay, which she didn't know, that meant he wanted to kiss _boys_ and she didn't want to kiss _boys_, she wanted to -

_Oh my God. I am._

She thought she should feel a sense of release at that, maybe something coming together. But she felt tightly spun, confused... she didn't know what came next. Her eyes grew worried as she stared up at the boy.

"See?" said the boy to the other more stressed-looking boy, "I told you she was a lesbo."

"I'm not!" she exclaimed, her lip suddenly burning.

"My sister is Renée Brady." the boy said, sneering, "She said she saw you kissing Brittany Pierce after gymnastics or something."

She saw Renée Brady that day after pre-cheer. She was fifteen; they only kissed for "practice". It wasn't her fault Renée Brady forgot her stupid clipboard. Why was she even carrying that around? Did she expect to make Head Cheerleader? She wasn't even through Coach Sylvester's hazing yet.

Although since the Cheerios try-outs, she couldn't quite shake the feeling she got when Coach Sylvester said loudly, through a bullhorn, "No fatties, plastics or lesbians. Nothing to distract from our main goal: destroy all those who compare Madonna to any other living being, and to crush the competition at Nationals." But she was good at ignoring thoughts for other things. Like popularity.

She stared up at the boy, pressing her hand onto her face. Her nose was bleeding.

The boy smiled wickedly. She resisted the urge to shudder. "Got the point? Fags go to hell and we'll send you there ourselves if we have to."

/

Santana shot up, disoriented. It was dark all around her. Her skin was cold. It only took a moment to realize that no, she wasn't dead, and it had been a dream.

But a memory.

The beginning of October, freshman year. What she remembered most was being one of the eight Freshmen girls to _not_be cut in Sue's hazing. And also, distantly, locking Renée Brady in the shower room at the end of the day. Renée transferred at the end of the year.

She tried not to remember the bruises and the split lip and the enormous purple splotch near her shoulder and the black eye and the gash on her eyebrow and the bloody nose that wasn't broken. She tried not to remember telling her mom she got under a pileup of Cheerios during a pyramid and had to fight her way out. Like that was even plausible. She tried not to remember the threat and the feeling of being under that boy's boot.

She was starting to hyperventilate. She'd nearly blocked the entire thing out. It was like it had never happened. She hadn't even thought about it. The boy was probably in college by now, or maybe out of school, but it made her tremble. She hadn't even thought about it.

_Fags go to hell and we'll send you there ourselves if we have to._

Goddamn it.

Where was she, again? She tried to push the dream away as hard as she could. She thought back. Rachel Berry's party. Outside her house. Finn.

_Finn._

Walking down the road with Dave Karofsky. Outside Kurt Hummel's house. With Blaine and Kurt. Watching TV. She thought she fell asleep but she wasn't sure.

"Hey," said a voice from beside her. She felt a hot hand on her back, "Are you okay?"

She clutched her hands together. "Yeah."

The person sat up. "I think David or my dad brought you down here. So don't be freaked out." said the person who seemed to be Kurt, "Did you - are you sick or something?"

She shook her head, still facing forward. So she had fallen asleep. And now she was in a bed with Kurt.

Well. If that wasn't an unexpected situation then she didn't know what was.

"Sorry. I think I just kind of passed out here." Kurt said quietly, "I didn't even know you were -"

"Have you ever been beaten up?"

Kurt fell silent. There was nothing but the sound of breathing. She didn't want to say that. She was only thinking it. Her heart thumped loudly in her chest.

"No." responded Kurt, his voice soft, "I've been thrown in Dumpsters and shoved around and generally picked on but I've never, you know, I've never..."

"Oh," She nodded, "Okay."

"Talk to Blaine instead." Kurt's voice was tiny, soft, "Maybe not... soon, he's not really... I mean... just, yeah. Blaine."

She nodded even though she knew she wouldn't ask Blaine. She didn't even want to ask Kurt. But she couldn't get the face out of her head. And the threat from three years ago that didn't apply anymore. How she'd slept with so many guys since then just to _prove_something to herself, even just subconsciously.

Kurt's hand was still warm on her back. "Santana... I'm going to ask you something and please don't get upset. Just answer honestly, okay?"

Kurt's goddamn voice. Blaine might have the voice that could seduce the president of the Celibacy Club but Kurt's voice was so _soft_when he wasn't trying to be snarky. Something in her chest loosened. Answer honestly? Anything. He already knew most of what she was hiding.

"Did someone hurt you?" He asked softly, blue eyes cautious.

Except that. He didn't know that and neither did anybody else. Not even Brittany and Brittany knew _everything_. She herself barely knew that. Did it even happen? She'd forced the other ideas so forcefully that she almost believed them. The bruises happened, the nightmares happened, the demons in the path off the woods on her way home.

She's taken the long way home every day since then. That happened too.

Never once had she screamed about it. Never once had she cried about it, never once had she looked back and cried about it even if she wanted to. Because she had to make sure it had _never happened_.

Except that the moments between the question and the answer had faded and she _was_crying but of course she didn't know for sure because crying made her heart beat too fast.

Kurt's eyes were suddenly burning, looking serious and disbelieving. His hand on her back twitched minutely. "Who?"

She shook her head, swallowing thickly. It didn't even matter anymore. It didn't matter who it was. She pulled her knees up to her chest. It was just that it happened and she had finally stopped being able to lie about it. A boy and his buddy beat her up in the woods on her way home because they thought she was gay. She was fifteen. She didn't even know what she had to prove but after that she spent her whole life trying to prove it.


	15. As the Silence Wins Over

A/N: I just like making people's stomachs twist. It's what I do. Thank you for the reviews. If you have the time, review this chapter too, because it's a lot less dialogue and a lot more inside the head.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Burt<strong>_

At five AM, the sun was barely up and the light was gray. Burt left his room and peeked into Finn's room, where he was sleeping like the dead, one arm hanging off the side.

In the basement, Kurt and Santana were sitting on the bed. Santana had her legs pulled up to her chest, head leaning on her knees. He didn't miss Kurt's hand on hers.

Blaine was lying on the far couch with his head resting on the armrest. His eyes were open, blank. Karofsky was lying on the other couch so only his back was visible.

He still wondered what the hell was going on.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Blaine<strong>_

By the time morning rolled around, Blaine wasn't sure he could move. He was exhausted. He hadn't even noticed that Kurt and Santana were awake. Which should have worried him because he used to miss obvious things too. But it didn't.

He knew where he was. He knew who he was. He knew what month it was and how old he was. But it just didn't feel real. And it did worry him how dependent he was on reality when he used to thrive without it. He always felt better in a dream.

He wished he had someone to blame. He could blame Santana but Santana could easily blame him. And then it would just be a circle of blame and he didn't have the energy.

When Blaine got caught outside of the Sadie Hawkins dance two years ago, they destroyed him. They destroyed the other boy too, but he was okay. Blaine was in pieces. He lay in pieces, got taken to the hospital in pieces and left the hospital still not mended. He left the school in pieces and transferred to Dalton Academy to live in a dorm with another boy who didn't know he was in pieces. And when he opened the door twice to a half-dead boy evidently and clearly in pieces, it became clear. That was when Blaine became a whole person again.

But really, he was worse than ever. But this time nobody knew. Fresh start. Scars open for modification.

"It's okay. We still don't have to talk about it."

He could hear Kurt's quiet voice like it was in his ear even if he was across the room.

"It doesn't matter. It was a long time ago."

Santana's voice was weary and strangely run down.

"It still matters." said Kurt softly.

"I just had a dream about something." Santana insisted.

"Looked kind of like a nightmare."

"I don't remember. No. I don't know."

There was a long pause. Somebody shifted. Blaine's eyes were open but closed to the world.

"Have you guys been awake this whole time?" That was Karofsky.

"For a while." said Kurt.

"What's going on?" asked Karofsky urgently, "Santana. Are you okay? Is she okay?"

Somebody moved. The bed creaked.

"Yes." replied Santana.

"No." replied Kurt at the same time.

Blaine's neck hurt. His chest felt tight. Somebody else spoke. Voices were starting to mix together. He should have slept at all. If only for ten minutes. It was becoming obvious.

"Why do all of you always think there's something wrong with me?"

"I was only asking. We care about you."

"No, you - hey, is..." A pause. A creak. "Kurt, Kurt… Kurt, Blaine."

Reminders. Movement. Hands on his face. Voices but the words were melting.

_I can't stop twisting around this storyline._

_Tangled words were never mine._

_I won't forget._

_I'm lost in it._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Burt<strong>_

"Dad!"

Burt dropped the mug he was washing into the sink with a clatter and dashed for the basement door. Before he could get down, he saw Karofsky and Kurt pulling Blaine up the stairs by the arms. Blaine looked blank and far away. Santana was hopping up the stairs behind them, biting her thumbnail and looking terrified.

Burt leapt down the few steps and took the arm that Kurt had, he and the huge Karofsky pulling Blaine much faster. His legs stumbled along with them. He was conscious, which was something.

They set him down in the living room, on the couch. His facial expression didn't change. Burt had a mind to ask Kurt to go get a bucket. Blaine was deathly pale and looked almost like he might be sick.

"What happened?" Burt asked, sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch.

Kurt sat beside Blaine, holding his arm with both his hands. He looked stunned, frightened. Santana stood a few feet to the side, hand by her mouth, frozen, anxious. Karofsky stood beside the coffee table. "I don't think he slept at all. He might just be exhausted." replied Karofsky after realizing Kurt and Santana were beyond answering.

Burt shook his head. He'd been exhausted. He'd seen exhausted. Hell, he'd gone three days with zero sleep whatsoever and survived just fine. "Did any of you touch him? That means you, Karofsky."

Karofsky looked at him, confused for a second and then outraged, "Are you screwing with me? That's not even funny."

"That's not what I meant." snapped Burt. Karofsky relaxed, but only minutely. "Think for a second. Were any of you talking? What did you say?"

"Santana and Kurt were talking but only a little. Something about not wanting to talk about something or... and I asked if Santana was okay," explained Karofsky worriedly, "She said yes but I think Kurt said no. And then Santana got mad and asked why we always think there's something up with her or... I'm paraphrasing here. That's the idea of it."

Blaine's eyes were dark, almost lifeless. He stared in Burt's direction but he knew he wasn't looking at him. Wasn't seeing him. There were dark shadows under his eyes, like bruises. He really hadn't slept.

Kurt's fingers tightened on Blaine's arm. Santana shifted on her toes. They were expecting him to know what to do.

"Blaine," Burt heard Kurt's voice say softly but urgently, "Blaine, talk to us, please."

His heart gave a squeeze. Something weird was going on. He just didn't know if it was happening outside or inside Blaine's head.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author Sidenote<strong>: Did you all catch the premiere last night? WHOA. KLAINE HAS NEVER LOOKED SO GOOD AND BLAINE HAS NEVER BEEN SO HEAD OVER HEELS. Shh. I'm still in the post-Glee-Klaine hiatus... ps, angsty Santana._


	16. We Were Lit From the West

**A/N**: I'm so unsure of this chapter, it's horrible. I absolutely do not know how I feel about any of it and I've never sworn this much in one chapter. I mean, I just want to say it's pent up rage, okay? I'm super iffy about this. Like _super_. But it's been a while and I figured it'd do. What I really wanted to post was a part after this, but I wasn't sure I should post a ten-page chapter so that'll be next.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Santana<strong>_

Santana's hands were shaking. Blaine's eyes were deep, like a pit with nothing at the bottom. She bit down on her thumb nail, trying to stop her quaking. His face made her stomach curl. She wanted to leave but she had nowhere to go. She wanted to cry but she didn't know if she could.

Blaine looked horrified. Nobody else seemed to see it. He looked blank and unresponsive but underneath it all... he looked horrified. It sent a chill up Santana's spine.

"Dad - I..." Kurt tried to say, his words shaking, "Dad - Dad, do something. Please."

Kurt's grip on Blaine's arm should have been painful but he didn't seem to notice. Santana shuffled over, stomach feeling weak, and sat down lightly on Blaine's other side. All her limbs were mechanical, weak, but all she could think of was that if it were her, Blaine would have done something.

She placed one hand gingerly on his back and moved the other toward his hand. "It's okay, Blaine." She said quietly, her blood rushing but keeping her voice calm, "It's gonna' be okay."

Which sounded strange coming from her own mouth, because wasn't she the one that was constantly denying it? She didn't even know whether she believed it and she knew Blaine didn't.

Kurt stared up at Blaine's face with wide, worried blue eyes.

"I guess... I'm going to call his parents to come take care of him." said Burt, "They can -"

"No!" Kurt's outburst startled them all with the obvious exception of Blaine. Santana could feel his pulse racing where her hand settled at his wrist.

"Kurt, if Blaine's sick, he's got to go home -"

"He can't." whimpered Kurt, "You can't. He can't. Don't - don't do that, please."

Burt sighed exasperatedly and threw his hands in the air, "I don't know what you want to do! Kurt, they are his parents and if something's wrong with Blaine, it's their -"

"He has to stay here." interrupted Kurt, hands starting to fidget nervously. He looked down at Blaine's leg, biting his lip.

"Are you at least going to tell me why? Because so far, nobody's told me squat." said Burt, clearly frustrated.

Kurt took a moment, looking nervously at his fingers. It made sense to Santana. She wouldn't want to be home. For the first time in her life, she felt like she was situated in an area where people genuinely almost gave a shit about her. Maybe not so far as _liked _her, but gave a shit. Sure.

Blaine's pulse continued to race in the vein in his wrist under her fingers. She moved her hand up, wrapping her fingers securely around his.

"Because there are people that love him here." said Kurt too softly, "At least, I do. That's more than at his home."

Burt watched his son for a few fleeting moments and the sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. Santana felt cold. She didn't want to go into home life. She just didn't. Not now.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Burt<strong>_

Burt had half a mind to send all the kids home. Ever since he'd stepped out of the living room to find the four of them, his son and his boyfriend and a girl that he was sure had to be a cheerleader or _something_and the kid that was the reason Kurt even met Blaine and transferred. It was like it got worse and worse, with Santana and then Finn and finding out it was true and Carole and now this and everything.

And yet it _still_felt like there were a lot of worse things he didn't know.

And he was afraid to find out.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Blaine<strong>_

Nearly a year ago, they told him he tried to die twice. They were wrong.

He tried to die three times.

A cold blade turned hot in a second and a bottle of pills from Wonderland didn't want to stay inside him. But a knot tied tight and hung from a high place made all the difference.

But pressure made things fall and cut lines in his throat and ceiling fans weren't strong enough. It's a surprise when all you can think is to stop seeing and stop believing the things you tell yourself and you don't really think of those things.

The only thing Blaine knew better than anybody is that the world doesn't stop when you die. It stops long before that.

He stopped caring and seeing and watching and knowing, he started abiding and looking and pretending and agreeing. He stopped trying, he started playing by everyone else's rules.

The reason he fell for Kurt the way he did was that Kurt moved him. He changed it. He stopped holding his breath and started to feel. Kurt made it easy to let everything be real.

But nothing lasts and soon everything faded again. And this time it wasn't on purpose. The only thing that couldn't be scratched out was Kurt.

He should have known from day one. He should have been more scared, he should have took Kurt as a notice to lock up everything but his voice even tighter. His voice was all he needed.

But it had just felt so _good_to be real again.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Santana<strong>_

Santana was gripping to the back of Blaine's shirt too much and squeezing his hand too tightly but she was too shaky. Kurt was staring at his father, blue eyes frantic. Dave stood a few steps away, arms crossed anxiously.

"Blaine, say something." Burt said, his voice quick.

Kurt was _agonized_. She _knew_he had to know something, know that something was up with Blaine before all this. It was just utterly frustrating.

She pulled her hands back and shoved Blaine full-force. He fell to the side slightly. Kurt grabbed her arm with cat-like reflexes, grip tight.

"Stop!" He exclaimed frustratedly. His voice was higher than usual, nervous. "What the hell are you doing?"

She stood up and stepped back, "Can't you see he's not hearing you? It's not doing any good to just talk at him!" She was horrified to find she was shouting, arms out in frustration, gesturing wildly to Blaine, "Haven't you _ever_felt like that before? You can't do anything until he gets out of his goddamn head!"

Kurt leapt up, "Don't yell at me! He's _my_boyf-"

"And you're not being a very good one back, because I know you know there's something going on with Blaine and I _know_you know what it is!" She argued, pointing angrily in his direction.

Kurt glared furiously, mouth agape, "Oh, that's _really_nice coming from you. You'd know all about shit going on that you think people don't know about, but I know! I know something happened to -"

"Just calm down!" Burt exclaimed over the argument, standing up between them, but Kurt kept going.

" - and the fact that you sit there all the time still bitching to yourself about how nobody understand, well, guess what? I understand! Blaine understands! We've had it a lot fucking harder than you have -"

Burt grabbed his son's shoulder angrily, "Kurt, that's enough! I won't have -"

"I can't believe you!" Santana exclaimed to Kurt, face burning with her anger. She couldn't listen to him, she couldn't believe the shit that was coming from his mouth. _Kurt Hummel_. "You have no idea! How can you sit there and talk to me like I don't have to -"

"You - don't - know - anything! You don't like people knowing?" Kurt's face was red and he looked like he wanted to start a war, he was shouting so furiously. "Well, guess what? People are going to find out because of -"

Santana fuse exploded and she wanted to lunge at him and punch him in a soft spot, "Shut up, shut up! Shut your stupid little mouth! You're constantly talking about telling people! I don't -"

"Unless you start being nice for once in your life, nobody's going to want to help you!" Kurt yelled back, throwing his fist down, "You think this is helping anything? Nobody's going to help you!"

Santana was so angry, she thought she might bust a vein in her head.

"Kurt!" Burt was shouting now, his voice louder than either of theirs in a demand to be listened to, "That's enough! I'm not going to have this! Listen to yourself!"

Kurt glared still at Santana, "Why don't you just stop involving me in your shit? There's too much of it and you're the reason for all _this_-" he pointed wildly at Blaine, "- and why it all started -"

"Whoa!" exclaimed Dave, raising his hands, "Whoa, Kurt, _what_are you doing?"

But Santana's eyes were pooling with tears of frustration. He just said it. Everyone was going to know, he was going to tell. And it was her fault. Blaine was her fault. She didn't understand but she didn't have to.

"Kurt, you need to stop!" Burt shouted at his son, hand tight on his shoulder, "Look at what you're doing to -"

"You're right, you're right, fine." She said, her voice a lot quieter than before, "But if that's my fault, it's just as much your fault for not doing shit about it."

Kurt looked like he wanted to strangle her. He gasped and jumped forward. Burt shot out his arm and pushed Kurt back in the chest.

"Are you kidding me, Kurt?" Burt exclaimed angrily, "This needs to stop!"

"You think I'm not doing anything about it? You don't think I've done anything?" Kurt yelled at her. She flinched back. "I've done tons, I've gone through _tons_and he's still like that anyway!"

"Then tell us so we can figure out how to help him!" Santana retorted furiously. It was driving her crazy, her insides were burning. Why wasn't Kurt _doing_anything? "That's the worst part, that you won't -"

"Santana, how about you both just calm down -" Karofsky tried to say, keeping an arm in front of her since Kurt almost sprang at her.

"It's not either of your faults, we don't even know what's wrong -"

At that moment, they all paused in unison. The stairs creaked with weight for a second and a person stepped down. It was Finn with tired, slightly red eyes in pajamas.

Kurt and Santana seemed to come to a mutual settlement. That was the end of their argument, the end of Kurt's finger-pointing tirade and the end of Santana's rising terror.

They both leapt full-force at Finn because really it was Finn's fault and not Santana's and not Kurt's and not Karofsky's and not even Blaine's. It was Finn's fault and he made all of this.

"Brotherhood my ass!" could be heard over the sound of Finn's surprised and terrified exclamations as Kurt shoved him back into the wall and Santana jumped up and fought him as best she could.

"Lima Heights, Hudson!"

"Despite being such a 'fag' I could still destroy you!"

"Lima - fucking - Heights!"


	17. I Saw the Devil Sneak Between my Fingers

**A/N**: All I have to say about this is – please don't hate me.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Blaine<strong>_

Over the sound of the rushing words in his ears and the steady flow of blood never spilt in front of his eyes, Blaine started to hear.

There was yelling and screaming, the sounds of a fight. He was scared, recoiling at first. Just nightmares coming through. On the cold pavement outside the dance, blood fighting its way out his nose and wounds.

But he heard the voice, Kurt's voice. Kurt hadn't been there (for which he was eternally grateful).

The noise grew louder and louder until it popped like a cap gun and suddenly... he was watching. He was skin over muscle over bones. He was Blaine again.

Kurt and Santana were attacking Finn furiously, both of them combined. Finn looked confused, but angry and scared at the same time. Karofsky and Kurt's father were yelling at the fight, trying to stop them. And suddenly Karofsky leapt forward and grabbed Santana around the waist, pulling her back, still kicking and screaming furiously. She fought at Karofsky's grip, still screaming a furious mixture of English and Spanish, neither of which sounded like she was saying anything very nice.

Burt jumped forward and grabbed Kurt's arms, both of them, behind his back and pulled him, struggling and still yelling, face red, back toward him.

Finn stayed pressed against the wall, eyes wide and panicked, frightened. He was panting, mouth wide open. "What - the - hell - was that?"

Santana and Kurt both paused for a second and started up again. Karofsky was essentially holding her off the ground for all the fighting she was still doing.

"You know full-goddamn-well what that was!" she screamed over the sounds of Burt and Karofsky trying to stop them and Kurt still yelling himself. "That was twelve hours of pent-up anger and time spent imagining your gruesome death -"

"You know what I think?" Kurt raged, struggling uselessly against his father's grip, "I think you've got some freaking _sexual frustration_ you should get out so please go find a cactus or -"

Oh, that was _terrible_.

"- of all people, I would really like to show you how it felt to sit there while you insult everything we -"

"- I've only been called a fag so many times by a friend and each time it was you!"

"You ever been to Lima Heights Adjacent, Finn? Well, let me give you a little tour right here!"

"- taken that shit from guys twice your size but I'm not going to sit by and let you -"

"Look at what you did!"

"Look at what you've done!"

Santana and Kurt went silent at similar times, chests still rising and falling furiously.

"That was completely inappropriate!" Burt yelled, his voice loud and scary. Kurt recoiled and jerked his arms away but Burt held fast. "What the hell did you think that was going to do -"

"He single-handedly fucked up _everything_in ten minutes!" Kurt shouted furiously, "Look at what he did to -"

"First of all, don't use that kind of language, ever!" Burt said sternly, frustrated, "Second, you have no idea why this happened to Blaine -"

"Oh, he did it." growled Santana, going still in Karofsky's arms.

"Santana, don't." Karofsky said seriously, but Santana did.

"You're just a bully, worse than anyone else -"

"Stop, Santana, stop."

"You punched a kid half your size in the face and called us _all_a bunch of fags and -"

"Get her away from me!" Finn exclaimed loudly, because Santana weaseled under and out of Karofsky's arms and made to lunge at him.

Blaine leapt up and grabbed her arm, pulling her back. If she hurt Finn, she would be in worse trouble than he already knew she was.

She spun around and looked like she was going to hit him but froze. "Blaine." she gasped softly. Kurt turned in his father's grip and lunged at him, wrapping his arms around Blaine's neck.

"Jesus, Blaine." He heard him mutter into his neck, "Jesus Christ."

Blaine's head pounded. All he could feel in him were a thousand different apologies, sorrows he had. He squeezed Kurt tightly.

It felt like a long moment. There was a loud bang. Blaine and Kurt jumped apart. Santana shoved Finn back into the wall forcefully, muttering something. Finn's eyes widened.

"Go ahead, say it." said Santana menacingly, glaring, "Say what words come to your head when Blaine and Kurt hug each other." She emphasized every word, her voice threatening and menacing. Blaine's chest constricted.

"Alright, Santana, that's enough, stop." said Karofsky loudly, grabbing her arm and pulling her. She went with him, keeping her fuming eyes on Finn. Finn stared at her.

"Would anybody mind telling me what the _hell_is going on?" asked Finn loudly, outraged. He was breathing hard, rubbing his chest where Santana shoved him.

They all stared wide-eyed at him.

"Oh my God. He was _that_drunk." Kurt looked stunned, but something didn't feel right. Santana tilted her head sideways, staring at Finn, calculating.

"No." said Santana finally, "No, he wasn't that drunk. He was perfectly coherent yesterday, enough to call me a dyke and a slut. He was not that drunk!" She was spinning off in an angry tirade. Blaine reached out to touch her arm.

"Don't touch me, don't touch me!" she snapped, jerking away. Karofsky held tightly to her arm, clearly afraid she would attack Finn again. "See that on Blaine's face? You did that! You did that and -"

"I'm sorry, Finn, do you know what happened last night?" interrupted Burt, looking skeptical and serious.

Finn glanced at each of them in turn. Blaine could see it in his eyes. He knew exactly what happened. But Finn shook his head nervously, "N - no."

Santana made a strangled noise of disbelief and Blaine tightened his fists. _That_ was bullshit. Santana twisted around, staring at Blaine, her mouth open in an outraged expression. Blaine knew exactly how she felt. Finn was blatantly lying to Burt's _face_. He shrugged at Santana, puzzled. He glanced at Kurt, who looked confused but not disbelieving.

That was unbelievable.

"That's not true." said Blaine quietly, interrupting the silence and shaking his head. Finn stared at him, wide-eyed and worried.

Burt and Kurt looked back to Finn. There was a very long moment of tense silence. Finn seemed to shrink.

"I didn't mean any of it."

Santana stepped back, outraged beyond words.

"Then why did you say it?"

They all turned back to face Blaine. Santana twisted her fingers together so tightly they were white. Kurt stared at the ground, shifting nervously. Blaine's heart beat in his throat. It didn't make sense. Finn was Kurt's _brother_ and he was the one who said all that. It wasn't even some deep personal stab. It was that _Kurt_deserved better than that by anybody, ever. Saying he didn't mean it didn't excuse it. Santana wasn't even solid. And now he knew exactly how she felt; like she needed to hide who she was even further. Denying who she was. It just made Blaine feel worse about it.

"I..." Finn began, stammering. Kurt, Karofksy and Burt turned to look at him. Santana kept her back to him, facing Blaine, eyes on her feet, twisting her fingers together.

"I don't know." said Finn quietly.

Blaine's skin prickled. He looked at Santana and then at Finn. "Then you meant it." He said with a shrug, and he hadn't been more sure of anything said to anybody besides Kurt for a long time. He knew Finn meant it. He just desperately wanted him to take it back, just for Kurt, just for now.

Finn looked regretful but not apologetic. Sorry but only that he was caught. Santana shifted on her toes, eyebrows low. She looked tense, stiff, stressed. Her jaw was tight.

"Did you tell anyone?" Santana's voice was tiny, softer than Blaine had ever heard it. Blaine's stomach twisted inside at that. He saw the rest of them look up at Finn but he kept his eyes on Santana, a strange, impending feeling settling in his chest. She must have been stressed about it ever since it happened. Blaine lifted his hand unconsciously and touched her arm softly.

Finn didn't speak and he didn't seem inclined. He was still pressed against the wall, eyes nervous.

"Finn," said Burt, his voice normal-level but surprisingly loud in the silent room, "Finn, did you tell anyone?"

Finn glanced up, gaze travelling over all of them. Blaine rubbed Santana's arm. She squeezed her eyes shut. It didn't sound good.

"No." replied Finn finally.

Santana opened her mouth like she wanted to say something but closed it. Blaine's heart squeezed. He glanced across the small group of people. Burt ducked his head expectantly, raising his eyebrows at Finn. Kurt bit his lip tightly, exhaling shakily. Karofsky rubbed a hand across his jaw, looking relieved. The gash under his eye was a dark shade of red. He nudged it with his finger and winced. There was a pause and he looked up at Finn.

Finn raised an eyebrow, challenging.

Blaine felt like there was a bird in his stomach that was fluttering wildly. His heart pounded in his ears. No, no, no way. There was no way. Impossible. The sickened feeling in his chest increased with every quick breath that was hitching.

Karofsky dropped his hand and tugged at his sleeve nervously. His eyes were wide as he stared down.

"No." The word escaped his mouth without consent of his mind but he didn't trust his mind anyway. And so he didn't quite mind. He just couldn't quite believe it.

They all turned to look at him. Santana looked up confusedly. She watched Blaine's glare at Finn and saw Karofsky's nervous hands. She froze.

"No." she breathed, eyes locking with Blaine's.

He breathed out, stunned, "Yes."


	18. Convincing the Sun Not to Rise

Santana

Santana felt as though her lungs were filling with water. She wasn't sure she could keep breathing for much longer and her breaths were getting more and more shallow.

No. No. No.

She covered her mouth with her hands, terrified of the little faith in the world anymore escaping.

She thought it was silent but even if it hadn't been, the loud thumping of her heart in her ears would have prevented her from listening. She could still feel Blaine's cold hand on her arm, gripping too tightly. She lifted her hand unconsciously and pulled it off of her arm, but couldn't quite let go. Her fingers were frozen.

No. Impossible. No.

She could feel it like it was fire. Nothing was impossible and people were decieving.

She didn't want to think these things. She just wanted to think of last night as a mistake and Finn was drunk and he was still goofy, clumsy, exhausting but charming the way an oblivious puppy is. He wasn't evil. He wasn't _bad._ He was Finn Hudson. He just made a mistake.

She felt a fire building up in her chest so quickly a wave of sickness came with it. She held her breath. Blaine squeezed her hand tightly in a way that felt suspiciously like he didn't want her to run away. But with one look at Dave's bruised face, she felt a bruise in her heart and spun around.

***

Burt

Santana was angry, and Burt could tell.

Blaine leapt forward and grabbed her around the waist as she, for the second time, looked like she was making for Finn's throat. But this time her anger was different. It came with a sort of desperate fury, urgent. It was a few seconds of struggling desperately, her breath frantic, before she started yelling.

"What did you do?" She screamed at Finn, who shrunk back against the wall, "Why?"

"Can some -" Blaine grunted, gritting his teeth, trying to hold Santana back, now both arms gripped tightly around her waist, "Can somebody help me please?"

"What did he even do to deserve -"

Burt jumped forward instinctively but Karofsky got there first. He wrapped one arm around her above Blaine's arm and pulled her back forcefully. Burt furrowed his eyebrows, frozen, at the scared look on Karofsky's face.

Santana just kept screaming, "Why?" as she fought against Karofsky's grip. He pulled her back, a sort of scared hopelessness in his eyes.

"Stop, stop," he said quietly, desperately, "Santana, stop." But she didn't seem to hear him.

Blaine moved toward them, eyes anguished, and grabbed Santana's shoulder gently, "Santana, it's okay, it's going to be -"

But Santana kept going, struggling furiously and desperately against Karofsky's strong grip. Blaine looked urgently, eyes still dark and deep, up at Karofsky. "We have to go," he said. He paused, squeezing his eyes shut.

"I swear to God, I'd like to kick you against the ground and see if you like it -"

Burt shook his head, "No, stay. Blaine, you need to stay. I'm not letting you go anywhere like that." Burt's jaw clenched. The kid was... He couldn't think of a word to describe it. The way he paused, the way he his words were always desperate.

What was it with Santana, too? What was going on? Finn was staring at the raging, nearly-in-tears Santana fighting against Karofsky's grip, teeth bared through her words and protests and worries.

"I'm going to do so much worse!" screamed Santana, still flailing in Karofsky's arms, "Why, Finn? Why?"

Burt felt like he was trying to keep up with fifteen things at once. Why Finn? This didn't seem the same. It seemed different. It seemed...

Worse.

As Karofsky pulled Santana out of the room, she struggled at first but then went still and went with him. Blaine looked at Finn, mouth open and eyebrows low like he wanted to say something. He shook his head and exhaled a sound of disbelief and pain.

Finn shrank back against the wall, slipping down minutely as Blaine rushed out after Karofsky and Santana.

Suddenly, Kurt spun around and stepped toward Finn. Burt jumped, instinctively grabbing Kurt's wrist.

"This is enough, Kurt." He said quietly, threateningly, "We've had enough."

Kurt ignored him, jerking his arm away. He turned to Finn. "What did you do?" He looked at him seriously, angrily, "What else did you do to Santana?"

"Nothing!" He exclaimed, shaking his head.

Burt could see them outside the window. Santana had her hands covering her mouth, eyes wide and chest rising and falling rapidly. She looked frantic, panicked - hysterical. Blaine moved forward and placed either hand on either side of her face, leaning in toward her, mouth moving fast around what was evidently a stream of reassurances. She nodded vigorously, squeezing her eyes shut.

Finn must have done something. Something they weren't telling him. Burt's head hurt. He didn't know what to do.

"Kurt, what's going on?" Burt asked loudly, not noticing he was interrupting, "There's something you're not telling me. What's going on?"

Kurt shook his head, stepping back from Finn. He exhaled loudly and shook his head still. "I don't know." He said quietly, finally. He lifted a hand toward Finn. "I don't know. But he does."

***

Blaine

The fear in Santana's eyes was almost overshadowed by the anger at first, but now it ran full-force. She was freaking out, she was just really freaking out.

"It's okay, Santana." He told her quietly, mind reeling for something new but it didn't come, "It's going to be okay." He held fast with his hands on either side of her face, leaning in just enough. Because he knew what it felt like, and he knew what it needed. Just a sharp pull back to real life and something to keep it working.

She shook her head, eyes squeezed shut. Blaine pulled her face up, "Santana, don't. Look at me."

She opened her eyes, hands still clamped tightly over her mouth, breathing strangely. He tried to keep his gaze on hers but with both of them fucked up the way they were, it was hard.

"Just - just breathe." He said quietly, drawing words from dreams and stammering, "Just - it's okay, it's okay."

She nodded vigorously, shutting her eyes again. But not before a tear could streak down her face. Blaine wanted to focus but he wished he could give up. It wasn't working, it wouldn't, and who could trust him to make it better? Him, who he could only think was worse than anyone. More enclosed. More... previously suicidal. A worse person.

Karofsky was looking at him, mouth in a tight line, and slowly pulled Santana away. She turned around and leant into him, burying her face in his jacket.

There was a soft rushing in his ears. He stumbled back, the ground pulling _hard_. A rush could keep him alive but it faded fast.

He felt a hand on his back and another on his arm. "No, you don't."

He turned around to face Kurt, teeth clamped over his bottom lip. His entire lower face ached at that, but he didn't notice. Kurt's face was fuzzy, the way the road looks during a heat wave. Kurt ducked his head, eyes locked on Blaine's. He was waiting.

He was waiting for him to focus.

"Blaine, stop biting your lip." Kurt kept each hand gently placed on each of Blaine's arms. "Honey, you're going to tear your lips apart and then how will I kiss you?" He tilted his head sideways, smiling at him.

But Blaine couldn't smile because all that kept tearing through his head was that _Finn_ had been the one to beat up Karofsky.

Santana

There was not a single rational thought in Santana's head. She wanted to tear Finn to shreds, she wanted to throw up, she wanted to cry, she wanted to scream. She wanted to lock everybody in a glass box so nobody could hurt them anymore.

The only thought that didn't revolve around Finn or Dave was that Blaine was being pulled into a bad place again, she could tell in his eyes and the way his hands trembled on her cheeks. And if nothing mattered, that, at least, did, for Kurt, for Blaine -

Jesus, why did she _care_?

All she wanted to know was why. Why did it happen? How could Finn do it? Finn, with the nearly clean record and the protector's attitude. It just left a hopeless feeling that shook her to her core and without noticing, she was in hysterics.

And she was sobbing into Dave's jacket, not aware enough inside to care what the hell she was doing. Somebody hurt him and now instead of wanting to hurt somebody back, she wanted to give up. There was no one that couldn't be hurt anymore. People weren't what they appeared and Finn had no feeling for any of it.

Dave smoothed down the back of her hair, "It's okay. Just... it's okay."

She knew somewhere deep down inside a forgotten part of her that she should feel the ridiculousness of it, but she didn't. She didn't feel anything like it.

She wanted to destroy Finn's every move but she couldn't. She just wanted everybody to stop feelingso shitty all the time. Nobody felt okay, it was as though nobody could.

"Why?" she said again, but this time she didn't know if she wanted an answer, "Why did he hurt you?"

Why did he hurt anyone? Why did anyone hurt anyone? She used to be an expert at hurting people, now she didn't understand, it didn't fit.

"What?"

She felt her arm be jerked by a soft hand. She spun around with the grip, eyes burning. Her face felt cold. She nearly smacked her head on Kurt's, that was how close he was.

"What?" Kurt repeated, "Who hurt who? Who hurt him? His face? Who did that to him? Who's he -" Kurt froze, narrowing his eyes for a second. And then he gasped.

Blaine made to grab him as he tore back into the house but he was too fast. Santana twisted around, "Kurt, stop!"

The back door into the house slammed and they could hear distant echoing bangs through the house; angry footsteps. And over the sound of her blood pounding in her ears, Santana could hear the yelling.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

"Why did you let him do that?" She exclaimed, jumping forward toward Blaine, "We've already screwed up a Sunday morning enough, why did you let him -"

Blaine grabbed her face, shocking her into silence. His grip was soft. He held her steady. "Stop." He said, "You're losing it."

_You're losing it. You're losing it. You're losing it._ She could be down with that. She could be ready for that.

Blaine's eyes shifted. She watched him through wide eyes as his mouth moved around words that reigned in on her thoughts.

"It feels worse than this does."


	19. You Only Half Believe

***

"It should have gotten stitches." said Santana quietly, thoughtfully, as she pressed the ice pack Kurt had brought to the reddened, scraped, bruised side of Dave's face.

He winced, "It doesn't hurt. I'm fine. It was Friday, Santana. It's fine."

She stared at him. Did he think she was an idiot? The thought made her feel sick, the thought of Finn doing this. And Finn inside without even a scrape.

Her hands shook as she lifted the ice pack, "I can't believe this happened to you. I can't believe he -"

"I never said anything about Finn doing this." He snapped, moving backwards away from Santana. She clutched the icepack tightly in her hands, watching him. "I never said. You just assumed. You don't know."

Her chest constricted. She moved back and bumped into Kurt's car. They were standing aimlessly on the driveway, waiting for Kurt and Blaine.

Her eyes were wide, her mouth open. "I - I'm sorry. I just want to help you." She was echoing him. A broken record that could serve a purpose if she spelled the words right.

He sighed, looking defeated in the eyes, and snatched the ice pack from her hands. She curled her fingers into each other.

He glared, "I don't need your help. I'm fine."

***

Blaine

Blaine's spine curved into a crescent moon, head tipping forward onto his knees. He felt like he was going to be sick. He should have slept last night.

He should have slept the night before, too. But the same old ghosts were slinking back into his head like they owned the place.

Although he supposed in a way, they did.

He shuddered. They were splitting his bones and planting seeds from the past and he was just letting them grow. Because there wasn't anything else he could do. It was what he was asking for, what he deserved, and what he would get.

Somewhere in between kissing Kurt, really kissing him, for the first time and feeling his tears seep through his shirt on his shoulder before he fell asleep, Blaine swore he'd stop this. He couldn't keep doing this. He'd done the thing he swore he'd never do; he'd hurt Kurt. His idiocy had made Kurt cry and he would _never_ forgive himself for that. He'd have that guilt with him until his dying day.

And the same old demons were trying to punch holes in his skin to bleed out the good he'd almost swallowed while being so in love with Kurt. And he was coming unhinged.

And it _hurt_.

He shuddered, groaning, face hidden in his legs, curled in on himself. He felt like he was going to be sick.

He flinched back when he felt a warm hand on his back. His first thoughts were bad.

"Blaine." It was Kurt. His stomach hurt. Every breath brought a sick feeling to his chest. "Blaine."

He shook his head into his knees, eyes squeezed shut. Not now. He had to focus for a second or he'd pass out.

"Finn is denying it. And without Karofsky saying -"

Kurt's voice lulled to a pounding drone. His head throbbed. He could hear a high ringing in his ears.

_Beads of blood._

Oh, God. Think of other things. Blaine's head was scrambling.

_He didn't want to die. Not now. Not today. He just wanted to feel something._

No. No, no, no. Not today. He wouldn't go there. He couldn't go there.

Kurt rubbed his back. "Blaine, honey, sit up, okay? It's okay." He felt Kurt's head lean on his shoulder, a warm weight pressing through the darkness.

He had to stop. Stay with Kurt. Not go back to lost places.

He leaned back, the air cold on his clammy face. Kurt curved his hand over the back of his neck. "You're okay. It's okay."

_Of course it didn't feel good. Of course he didn't like it. But that was precisely what made it so right. Punishment. Well-deserved. A reminder._

Blaine's stomach lurched. He jumped up from the chair where he was sitting and tore through the hall, lurching into the bathroom. His skin burned from the inside.

***

Santana

"I'm trying to help."

"You're not helping." Santana flinched back when Dave snapped in her face, "You're not helping by freaking the hell out every two seconds, you're not helping by starting a fight!"

Santana's face burned. "I didn't start a fight."

Dave pushed himself away from her, "Yes, you did. You and Kurt, you both did. There was no _reason_ to attack Finn like that - it was just stupid."

Her hand twitched. She narrowed her eyes. How could he say that? She was mad! Because Finn was the one that did this to _him_! She was trying to make a point! If nobody stood up to him, he would just get away with it!

"Don't give me that look - don't." He continued, pointing at her with a finger, "You know it was stupid. I know just as well as you do that what he did to Blaine was -"

"It's not only what he did to _Blaine_." She interrupted, biting down on her lip. Her head hurt. This was all a big waste of time.

Dave glared at her, "I can fight my own battles. I'm not eleven, Santana. I'm not going to let you get hurt or get in trouble because I screwed up -"

Her insides burned, "Just tell me what happened." Because she needed to know. She needed to know if it was Finn, even if she didn't want to. Old Santana would tear him limb from limb, this one still wasn't sure.

Dave pressed his lips together, "You know how many fights I've been in? This isn't special."

Then why did it feel so special?

_Those things they say  
>blew my ears away.<br>I've stopped,  
>I've stopped listening.<em>

And her words flew past like a verse in front a playwright. She was the main character, wide-eyed and burning. Blaine was the one laying down in the middle of the highway, just _waiting_ to be crushed and just _begging_ his subconscious to remember the other cars. And Kurt pulling on his arm with an agonized sort of vigorousness, desperate to cling to the tiny Warbler he knew first. And there was Karofsky, the victim-pegged-offender, hidden deep in a sweater made of blinding self-hatred with the collar pulled far over his head. And for the first time, she had something to say about it. Because watching so many people _hate_ themselves was so, so exhausting and so, so sad. And she found she'd rather hate herself than let the only people she didn't hate be hated. Even by _themselves_.

So, she pushed away his angry hands and wound her arms gently - almost cautiously - around his neck. And stayed like that until his shock wore off and he started breathing again.

_As the stars fall on our hands,  
>call the wind the thief for stealing their prayers.<em>

"It's different," she began, shutting her eyes around angry images, "Because you didn't fight back."

She caught his brown-eyed glance her way. "I didn't want to hurt people anymore." 


End file.
